Glass Silence
by Zarrene Moss
Summary: In another world, Hermione Granger never attended Hogwarts. Orphaned at age three, she grew up supporting her low-income adoptive family who hadn't the means to pay for her education. Desperation and a chance encounter lead her into the employ of the three Black sisters. She finds herself caught in their deadly web, helplessly waiting to see who will reach her first. H/B, H/N, H/A.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Narcissa, Hermione/Andromeda. And possible combinations therein, depending on my whim or the desires of my darling readers.

**A/N for the story:** If you want a frequently updated, short, or fast-paced fiction, go elsewhere. I have plans for this to be a lengthy piece, with actual reasons for our favorite ladies to jump in bed together, rather than the usual: _pshhh, the attraction is _totally_ there and that's all that matters _attitude I often run across. Also, I am a busy person, with at least three-quarters of my mind existing in the real word at all times, which doesn't exactly make me an ideal fanfiction writer in terms of update speed. Still, it will be completed, all of my work is. And just to mention it, this is unbetaed. I hate rereading my own work, so more than likely there will be typos, but nothing so serious as to detract from the story, I should hope. Is that a long enough, rambling enough author's note? Don't worry; it's only on this one chapter.

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><p>Hermione Granger did not destroy a Horcrux. In fact, Hermione Granger did not ever set out to destroy Horcruxes. Beyond this, Hermione Granger never actually became friends with Harry Potter or Ronald Weasley. How? Why? Because in a different reality, in a different time, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley somehow managed to scrape by alone to defeat the Dark Lord, and they were forced to do this alone because of one small inconsistency in the timeline of the day: Hermione Granger's parents died when she was three years old. She spent a single month in a Muggle orphanage, followed by one year in a Wizarding orphanage, where she was then adopted by a wizarding family with much in the way of good intentions but little in the way of income and means.<p>

And so, Hermione Granger did not attend Hogwarts. Her adoptive parents taught her the minimal spellwork to keep her own magic in check and spells to help them with the upkeep of the small inn they ran on the outskirts of Diagon Marketplace, but nothing beyond that. When her acceptance letter arrived by owl on the eve of her eleventh birthday, her family sat her down, told her that she didn't need a fancy education to be happy, and proceeded to put an end to any dream of such learning before it could begin. Instead, Hermione cooked, stripped bedsheets, cleaned linens, swept floors, stocked pantries, scrubbed showers, and ran errands to keep her second mother and father from going broke altogether. She knew that they loved her, and she came to love them in return, and logic told her perfectly well that if she were not there to help her new parents, the inn would close, and even if she insisted on attending Hogwarts, they had no money for spellbooks or robes or fancy equipment. She hadn't even her own wand, using instead a splintered hand-me-down from a great-great-grandparent she wasn't even related to.

She tried not to begrudge her family. But it was hard, watching the children she befriended in the summer disappear each fall and return with eyes full of wonder and stories of magic she may well never see. She learned to read cookbooks and two-knut fiction scrolls sold by the vendor in the corner stall, but the shop selling spellbooks was far beyond her earnings, and the only library was too far to walk. On a few precious occasions, her mother would Apparate with her to that end of the district, but she could only browse and read in the few hours they spent, as there was no guarantee she could return the books before a late fee was incurred. Still, she taught herself what she could from the other children, and her parents helped where they could.

She was always a bright girl, and grew up street-smart if not book-smart, with a constant longing to know _more,_ to understand _everything_.

When her father grew ill shortly after her seventeenth birthday, her mother was too stressed and overworked to make household decisions, leaving Hermione to sell the inn, using the money to set up her mother and herself in a small but sanitary apartment only a block from St. Mungo's, where she had her father admitted for an indefinite time. The next thing to do was to find a new job. She vowed that she would continue to support the family who raised her until she had worked herself past the point of endurance.

For a year, she truly had to. The war was on, and Voldemort's shadow seemed determined to bleed the very life out of every wizarding household and business. Hermione had to work three jobs to keep her mother living in relative comfort, while her father was quickly fading despite the best care she could afford for him. On weekdays, she worked as a cleaner in the Ministry of Magic, keeping her head bowed as she scuffled in and out of conference rooms and private offices. She learned much about the war, then, absorbing gossip and politics and more information than she had ever had about the world beyond Diagon. After dragging herself exhausted from the Ministry at nightfall, she headed over to the Leaky Cauldron to bartend, having to falsify her age as well as escape the lecherous eyes and wandering hands of drunken patrons. On weekends, she was a nanny and chauffer for a wealthy pureblood family whose three children were still too young to attend Hogwarts.

Each of her jobs was degrading in its own way, and the vibrant young woman she had been growing into was quickly being crushed under the weight of so much exhaustion, so much pain, and so little time to herself.

Then, in a single day, the war had ended. While most of the world celebrated, Hermione once more found herself out of luck. The pureblood family fled the country without even giving her a final paycheck, the ministry decided that—as part of their new, progressive stance—they would do their own upkeep, and routine employee background checks which had been neglected during Voldemort's reign of terror suddenly revealed Hermione to be three years too young to bartend. Her employer, a friendly man, simply muttered as he handed over her last earnings, "At least you were legal. But Seventeen's only legal for magic, dearie, to handle wizarding booze you know you've got to be twenty."

Trying not to cry, Hermione was thankful that at least he hadn't gotten her arrested.

Back in the apartment, Hermione summoned what newspapers she could from the garbage bins in the alley out their window and began scrounging for job opportunities.

She was interviewed by a family looking for a full-time nanny, but the hours would leave her no time for a second job, and the pay just wasn't enough on its own. She trekked to the far corner of the marketplace for an interview at a large owlery, but the position was filled before she arrived. Back at the Ministry, she saw two separate employees about secretarial positions, but without schooling she simply wasn't qualified in their eyes.

Stepping into a crowded lift, she was on her way out of the ministry, preparing to attempt another bartending job in one of the less savory pubs out of sheer desperation. She almost got out when the majority of the others did, walking in a daze, but caught herself, noticing that she still had three floors to go.

Left with only one other occupant, they were between her floor and the one below it when the lift shuddered, jittered, made a strange, almost hiccup-y sound, and stalled.

The figure behind her, a tall woman with fair brown hair and solid black robes let out a curse and kicked the side of the lift.

By contrast, Hermione's reaction made the woman's seem mild. The events of the past days finally coming to a head, she let out a strangled cry and crumpled, sliding down the wall and starting to sob into the sleeves of her best, interview-only robes.

With her face buried in her arms, she couldn't see the other woman approach, but she did feel gentle fingers come to rest on her shoulder. "Are you alright?" For some reason entirely unknown to herself, this only made Hermione cry harder. "Of course you aren't alright; you're sobbing in the lift. What am I thinking?" She felt the other woman slide down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. "You haven't got claustrophobia, have you?"

Somehow, Hermione found this strangely comical, and her sobs became mixed with half-hiccupped laughter. "N-no, it… I'm alright, or, I will be—"

"Come off it. If it isn't the lift, then you may as well get it off your chest. Talk to me. I'm a stranger, what could it hurt?"

Allowing her tear-streaked eyes to pear up from the crease of her elbow, Hermione truly looked at this woman for the first time. She had a kind face, and a striking one, with aristocratic features softened by full lips. But her skin was beyond pale, and dark shadows hung heavy beneath her eyes, the slight wrinkles there belaying her otherwise youthful beauty. Her hair was longer than Hermione's and a shade paler as well, but the long curls looked oddly unkempt, as though she had rolled out of bed without fixing them. Altogether, she looked quite as tired as Hermione felt. "I'm sorry," Hermione started. "It's just… It's been a rough few days."

The arm tightened around her shoulders for a moment as the older woman replied, "That's it has."

Hermione blinked for a moment, somewhat surprised to run into someone else who wasn't still in the midst of celebration and revelry regarding the Dark Lord's fall.

"So I'm not the only one, then?"

A chuckle. "Hardly," the woman said dryly.

Hermione sniffed rather indelicately, and watched as a wand was pulled from the woman's sleeve before she briskly conjured a handkerchief. Vaguely, Hermione found herself missing the comforting warmth of that arm about her shoulders.

"Thanks," she murmured, dabbing her eyes and blowing her nose. Without a word, the handkerchief was banished once more, leaving two tired women settled on the floor of a broken Ministry lift.

"We're likely to be stuck here for some time."

Hermione nodded, well aware of the famous fail that made up the Ministry maintenance department.

"So. If you don't mind, could I pry again? What happened in your life? You look like you could use an open ear…"

Looking into warm eyes – dark, that shade between chocolate and black – Hermione felt a flood of words and emotions claw their way up her throat and to her own surprise, she talked.

"I'm stuck," she started, her voice cracking. "I lost my job—hell, I lost three jobs in a single day, and no one will hire me now that the war is over. I'm too young, and too inexperienced, and I don't even have a formal education. My father is dying at St. Mungo's, and I've been barely scraping up enough each month to pay his fees. Not to mention, I can't let my mother know that I've been working three jobs, because she's too emotionally unstable over dad to hold up a job, but she'd insist on it if she knew what I've been doing."

"What _have_ you been doing?" the woman asked, her voice compassionate, but firmly inquisitive.

"I was a cleaner here at the ministry from five to ten, and then I worked the bar down at the Leaky Cauldron till it closed. Weekends I was a glorified nanny for three young children. Now, the ministry does its own cleaning, I was ousted from bartending for being too young, and the pureblood family I worked for fled after the war."

She couldn't meet the other woman's eyes any longer, afraid any pity or repulsion she saw there would bring her to tears again. After all, most people's reactions to an uneducated cleaning girl ranged only in the spectrum of disdain or disgust. She hardly ranked higher than a house-elf to the average witch or wizard.

For a moment, the woman was silent, then she murmured, "Five in the _morning_? By Merlin, you can't have gotten out of the Leaky Cauldron till three at the earliest, and having to rush to the Ministry a mere two hours later? I dare say you're lucky to be alive, living on that little sleep."

Daring a look up, Hermione could see only compassion in the older witch's eyes. "I slept on my lunch break," she hesitantly continued. "And sometimes in one of the offices if I knew there was a meeting going on. And supper hour, most days. I told my mum that I've been working a nice, cozy secretary job here, and that they give me an apartment to stay in. That's why I'm 'never home'."

Looking down once again, Hermione noticed her hands were shaking. She squeezed them together, but the woman had already seen, and she gently took one from Hermione's lap and encased it protectively between her own. "No one should live like that," she said softly. "You're tiny. You've been practically starving yourself for a spot of sleep! How long has this been going on?"

"Roundabouts a year now, I suppose." Hermione was beginning to feel safe with this woman, far safer than she had felt in a long time. When her next question led Hermione further into the tale of her upbringing, it took little coaxing to speak of why she didn't attend Hogwarts, her life at the inn, even the tale of her first parents dying in tragic plane crash.

"They were Muggle dentists. I hardly remember a thing about them, but I knew they were good people; they were in Africa, working with Operation Smile—it's a Muggle thing where people volunteer or donate money to help surgically correct facial deformities in children. They were on a small private plane traveling from a village to one of the cities. Engine failure. I had no living family members, and since most of their work had always been nonprofit, the small sum I inherited went to the Muggle orphanage I was first put in. Nothing went with me to the wizarding children's home. When the Tearsons adopted me, they asked if I wanted to keep my last name. As a three year old, it was like asking if I wanted to keep my teddy bear. So I'm still a Granger."

Suddenly, it crossed Hermione's mind that not only had she been subjecting this woman to her entire life story without a second thought, but she didn't even know her name.

"I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to go on and on," she said, a blush spreading across her cheeks. She started to withdraw her hand from where it lay contentedly between two comforting palms, but the witch subtly tightened her grip, and Hermione didn't fight the contact again. "I-I don't even know your name… I'm Hermione Granger."

Without letting go of Hermione's fingers, the woman turned to face her, only to find Hermione once more staring down at her own lap. A gentle finger placed beneath her chin coaxed Hermione to look up, meeting a gaze she couldn't quite make sense of.

"Don't apologize, Hermione. That's the first thing. Don't let anyone have a power over you that they haven't earned. In this lift, who is to say that you're any less important than me? You have so much unchecked potential… I think it is well beyond time that someone helped you take control of your own life. If you'll hear me out, I may have a job for you."

Before Hermione had a chance to sort through that information, the lift jerked to life, resuming its upward journey with the ominous clanking that clearly meant all was as well as could be expected.

Andromeda rose from the floor and offered Hermione a hand. Hermione took it and stood as well. Before she could take back her hand, the woman used her grip to draw Hermione's attention once more. "I'm Andromeda. Andromeda Black. Allow me to get us lunch and we can continue this conversation over a cup of tea and some food."

It clearly wasn't a question. All the same, Hermione responded, "Alright, that sounds – Alright."

Andromeda chuckled, squeezed Hermione's hand once more, and dropped it as the grate slid aside to reveal the Ministry Atrium.

Hermione followed the older woman just a step behind until they reached the Floo chamber. Hermione hesitated as Andromeda joined one of the queues. She had cleaned the soot from this floor many a time, but had never actually used it to travel. Only official Ministry workers and high-status guests were permitted here.

Seeing Hermione's reluctance, Andromeda returned to her side. "What is it?"

Hermione blushed. "I've never… I haven't actually used the Floo before. My apartment isn't even connected to the network."

The other witch's eyes widened a fraction, but she took charge, not allowing Hermione time to feel any more embarrassed. "Come along then, here, take my arm…" She guided Hermione's hand to the crook of her elbow. "…and just don't let go. The only bad part of Floo travel comes if you breathe too much. Magical soot is right unpleasant for the sinuses."

The joking comment served its purpose, distracting Hermione as they reached the front of the line and stepped together into one of the giant fireplaces. "And keep your eyes closed." Casting down her handful of powder, Andromeda spoke with precision, "Diagon Alley!"

Green flames obscured Hermione's vision just long enough to remind her to close her eyes. Then, she felt the world begin to spin around her, feet no longer touching anything resembling solid ground, wind roaring past her ears. Her fingers tightened around Andromeda's elbow, the only thing keeping her remotely grounded. As quickly as it had started, the motion halted, and she staggered as her feet hit ground that seemed to be in a distinctly different place than before her journey. Luckily, the other witch caught her with a gentle arm about her waist, giving her a moment to let her head stop spinning.

"Blimey…" she muttered. "I hardly see why anyone would choose to travel like that…" she added, collecting herself enough to take a step away from Andromeda.

She gave a slight laugh. "I find the toilets rather more distasteful."

Taking a moment to consider the spinning heads she had seen disappearing down the Ministry drains—another form of transport she had never been given an opportunity to try—she decided that perhaps Floo was the better choice. Herself, she preferred to travel via the personal, cleaning staff phone booth, even if it was often cramped with three or more people and was located in a distinctly shadier part of the city.

Walking again, Hermione stayed a step behind her odd acquaintance, studying her, trying to make sense of her. She noticed once again that Andromeda was taller than her, and seemed to walk with… purpose. No, more than that, she walked with _presence._ Her confidant strides said, "Notice me," in the same way her patrician features said, "I'm something beyond you." Her robes were clearly tailored; the heeled boots Hermione caught glimpses of beneath the hem of the robes were probably worth more than her yearly income. She felt the hopeful feeling that had come over her in the lift begin to fade. What could someone so clearly a member of high society want with a cleaning girl? Why had she been so kind to her in the lift?

Before she could talk herself out of it, though, they had reached a café beside Flourish and Blotts, one of the more popular lunch destinations, but an affordable one, where Hermione had eaten numerous times… before her father had fallen ill… before everything had gone to pieces…

Andromeda held out Hermione's chair for her like a proper gentleman, and it brought a smile to the younger witch's face once more.

While they waited to order, neither witch seemed ready to break the silence, but after the waitress had left, Andromeda propped her elbows on the table top and began her own tale.

"Since you haven't seemed to change your opinion of me since I told you my name, I'm guessing you haven't had the time to follow the news in this past week."

Hermione shook her head; sipping absentmindedly on a cup of tea she couldn't quite remember ordering. She hadn't been paying any attention to the goings on of the world in these two and a half weeks since the Dark Lord's end. The first week she was still working, the second she was being fired…

"Then it's of little surprise you haven't heard my name before. I've had a… low profile life. I had a husband and a daughter. She was an Auror, and a good one, but like so many others, she wasn't quite lucky enough to survive the war. My husband died as well; they didn't even know who he was – just a routine raid made by Snatchers."

Hermione held a hand over her mouth in shock, trying to understand how this woman remained so kind and collected after such recent tragedy. "Merlin, that's… I'm so sorry, I…"

Andromeda waved away her words. "What's done is done. In some ways, it was for the better. My husband and I were preparing for a divorce, and it would've hurt my Nymphadora so horribly… We had only stayed together so long for her sake. There was no love left between us… he was a wonderful, kind man, but he couldn't reconcile the fact that I grew up in a different world than him. I was not interested in any sort of blind devotion, neither the sort he had for the Aurors and Dumbledore, nor the sort my sister had for Voldemort."

Hermione's eyes widened at the casual, biting tone with which she spoke _his_ name. Even after his fall, very few took the chance that his name might still bring death to their homes.

Andromeda continued without pause. "I escaped from one sort of madness into another, when I married Ted. I thought I was freeing myself, but…" she visibly shook herself. "But that is hardly relevant. Either way, at least my daughter died without having to grieve her father, and she died in the arms of her own husband, who she loved very much. However, it was still the wrong time for her to die. They had just had a child."

Hermione stifled a noise of surprise.

"And they left me to raise him. But I… I am not cut out to mother again." Her face closed. "I visit him often, I give him what love I can, but he is better off where he can be surrounded by love. With the responsibilities I now have, it was only safe for me to let his godfather raise him, with the help of the entire Weasley family, of course."

Hermione was having a bit of a hard time following at this point, but she didn't interrupt. Clearly, Andromeda had given up her grandson to be raised elsewhere, but seemed to have taken care that he was raised well. She could not grudge her that. Andromeda seemed to be at a pause in her story, and Hermione wondered why the other witch felt she deserved to know all this about her.

With a soul-deep sigh, Andromeda continued. "Now, the important part, I suppose. I'm sure you've heard the name Bellatrix Lestrange?"

Again, Hermione nodded. Yes, she had heard of Bellatrix Lestrange. The Dark Lord's right hand. A mad Death Eater, escaped from Azkaban with her equally mad husband.

"She is my sister."

For a second, Hermione took this in stride, as she had every other word from Andromeda's mouth. Then, the words hit home. "What? She's your – you're related to –"

"Yes. Bellatrix Black was one of three sisters. Myself and Narcissa—Narcissa Malfoy, now—being the other two. But I left the family; I was disowned, for marrying a Muggle-born. I had no contact with Bellatrix and very little with Narcissa until this past year.

"Now, there are two things that you must know about Bella. She's insane. That means she's absolutely illogical, absolutely unaware of common sense. But she is also the most resourceful, devious, cunning _survivor_ I've crossed paths with. Everyone, literally _everyone_ thought she had been killed by Molly Weasley in the final battle. It wasn't until she stood up three hours later and asked –" she cringed at the recollection "—_where the party had gone_… that we finally realized Molly Weasley had never been capable of a Killing Curse. By then, the only ones left in the room were the dead and the grieving families. Thinking back now, I'm not sure what possessed me to do it, but when wands were drawn and curses began flying at her, I yelled for everyone to stop. I reminded them that there was to be no more killing. The battle was over, those left on the losing side were to get a trial. I personally took Bella's wand and chained her, personally led her over to the other prisoners, while all the time she laughed in my ear and taunted me that she had been right all along – that blood was the only thing that mattered, that I couldn't kill her because she was my blood…"

Andromeda was clearly lost in her own world, reliving those moments, and Hermione was equally entranced by the smooth, aristocratic voice gone hoarse with memory.

"But she was wrong. It wasn't any of her misguided notions of pureblood supremacy that made me save her, it was my own humanity. And perhaps just a bit of… vindictiveness. I wanted to prove that, for once, I had more power than her. Now, she's in my debt and regardless of right or wrong, that feels good."

Andromeda's eyes were unfocused but burning with an almost frightening intensity. Hermione found herself wondering just how much the sisters may have had in common had Andromeda not been so isolated.

"Both she and Narcissa went to trial, and I attended. I expected Narcissa's acquittal. A few nonsense words about acting in protection of her son, the fact that Harry Potter himself testified in her favor, and she got off scotch-free. Her husband, Lucius, is under house arrest; only three years, which is a light punishment for one of the most longstanding Death Eaters. They announced that Rodolphus had died of wounds inflicted in battle, which could easily have been true, since he dueled against my daughter. Then, it was Bellatrix's turn. To understand what happened next, I had to realize that, with Azkaban indefinitely rendered inoperative, the Wizengamot was grasping at strings. They had no options. There was nowhere even remotely as safe as Azkaban had been, and Bellatrix had escaped from there already. None of the foreign prisons would have admitted her, and nowhere in Britain would hold her for more than a day. More than anything, the Ministry needed to save face. They've become something of a joke since the war. So what do they do? Without giving me as much as a by-your-leave, they announce that she has been declared, 'unsuitable for imprisonment due to her mental state', and sentence her instead to lifelong house arrest. And who is to be her warden? Me. I've been tasked with keeping my _dear_ _sister_ imprisoned in the upstairs of Black Manor. Beyond that, Narcissa has also claimed her share of the old property, since Malfoy Manor was destroyed, and her nightmare of a husband moved in as well, though she wants nothing to do with him at the moment. It's a bloody family reunion, and I'm expected to be the peacekeeper, the mediator."

She laughed bitterly. "And Merlin knows I've never been a peacekeeper. I suppose it's a good thing my life had already gone to hell, the distraction was almost welcome. Bellatrix has been shockingly… cooperative, and I'm willing to bet she will continue to be, so long as it serves her purposes. Cissa spends all her time skulking around avoiding Lucius and writing to her son, who left the islands, hoping to find a new future in France. And me? To be quite honest, I'm dreadfully bored. I feel as though I'm living in a ghost house, with Bella confined to the upper floor and everyone else avoiding each other as though the world will end if anyone has a bloody conversation!"

Hermione's soup had long gone cold, and she had yet to take a bite. She was utterly frozen; unable to do anything but try to understand the life this woman had been pressured into. The only thing she could think to say was, "But, couldn't you have just said no?"

Andromeda flinched, as though Hermione's words had slapped her in the face, only then seeming to remember that she was speaking to another person. "If I had said no, they would have had to kill her," she said flatly. "There was no other option. And that is one thing the Ministry has never, never done. They will drain the soul from you," she said bitterly, "but they will never take a life in punishment." The tone of disdain in her words and the haughty expression in her eyes made her look like a true aristocrat, a true pureblood. "And while I don't give a rat's ass about the Ministry, I do care about Teddy, sorry, my grandson. And I don't want him to grow up in a world where the people he's supposed to look up to are murderers, and where his mad great-aunt has been turned into some sort of martyr in the eyes of a government-hating generation."

Hermione stared at the woman across from her with nothing but admiration in her eyes. "You've really thought this through, haven't you?" she said, awe clear in her tone.

Andromeda's gaze mellowed, and a small smile quirked the corners of her lips. "I've had quite a bit of time to think about it. Now, just the fact that you haven't run off screaming yet makes me feel that I didn't misjudge you in that lift. See, I need help. I was at the Ministry today getting permission to hire a cleaner—every change made in the household has to be Ministry-approved. Honestly, I don't _need_ a cleaner. We have two house-elves, and much of the house takes care of itself, but neither of the elves will venture near Bella, and no one in the household, elves included, can cook. At all. Hearing that you worked in an inn, I assure you, you're overqualified. But more than anything, I'd like to hire you to be… company. I need someone around who will talk to me like a person, rather than any of my old acquaintances who either won't come within a hundred yards of the Manor, or only want to bemoan my life at me when they do visit. I need someone to keep me sane. And the pay would be excellent. It would more than support your mother; easily cover any bills St. Mungo's could charge. To be frank, my sisters and I have more money now than we could use in a lifetime. Wait—don't answer yet."

Seeing words on the tip of Hermione's tongue, a protest that she wanted to earn her keep, not be paid out of pity, Andromeda held up a placating hand. "Beyond that, I can teach you. I'm a skilled healer, and I was top of my class at charms. I went through two years of pre-Auror defense training before my pregnancy put an end to that. And I would be beyond happy to teach you what I can."

Hermione's hands were shaking again, but it wasn't from exhaustion any longer. Working in a Manor, being paid to cook a mere three meals a day and clean a single floor, while being taught by a skilled, educated witch? _Learning. _How tempting it was.

"I understand if you say no. I know, it's a hard thing to ask of someone to live in the same house as a convicted Death Eater, a murderess…"

"No! No, I mean, yes, I mean." Hermione swallowed audibly before continuing. "I would be beyond privileged to work for you, Ma'am."

Andromeda's face broke into an ear-splitting grin. "Yes? Truly? Well that's a relief, or I might just have had to cast a memory charm, with all that sensitive information I just told you." The tone was light, but Hermione felt a slight chill down her spine all the same. "But none of this, 'Ma'am' business. It's Andromeda, or even Andy, and we'll get on just fine. Save the ma'am-ing for Cissy."

Hermione fought down a "yes, Ma'am." It was an ingrained response to anyone above her.

"How soon can you move in?"

"M-move in?"

Andromeda quirked an eyebrow. "Merlin's beard, you didn't think I'd make you commute, did you? You can have your pick of the guest bedrooms. Of course, you can come and go as you please; visit your parents, take care of any other affairs, but it would be impractical for you to live elsewhere."

"Ma'am, that's too much," Hermione started. "You can't mean for me to live in your home! I-I don't belong in a Manor. I'm a cleaner, and not much beyond!"

"Rubbish," she replied, voice firm. "You are a beautiful, bright young witch, who has been unfairly abused by life. Let me help you, Hermione." She reached across the table and took a firm grasp of the younger witch's hands. "I'm not asking this of you out of pity, I'm asking this because I genuinely like you, because I genuinely need someone to help me, and because I genuinely believe my time won't be wasted if I spend it with you, spend it teaching you."

The sincerity in the other woman's voice brought Hermione close to tears again. "T-thank you. I'll try not to let you down," she whispered. Andromeda gave her hands a squeeze before letting go and leaning back in her chair.

"So. How soon can you move in?"

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><p><strong>AN for the chapter: **Bellatrix will be here soon enough. Bear with me. I just love how open to interpretation Andromeda's character is… Also, if a few of you were lost on the part about Teddy Lupin, the godfather in question is none other than Harry Potter himself—sticking with cannon, though I can't for the life of me imagine why—and since he is really too young to raise him alone, I thought it plausible that the Weasley's would take him in, so long as Andromeda financed his upbringing. Just tying up loose ends before the story can really begin… *wink*


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Narcissa, Hermione/Andromeda. And possible combinations therein, depending on my whim or the desires of my darling readers.

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><p>Bright and early the following morning, Hermione stood in a mix of nerves and determination outside an ivy-bound wrought-iron gate, the only break in the massive stone wall hiding Black Manor from the surrounding countryside. In one hand, she clutched the small tea-spoon Portkey which Andromeda had charmed for her the previous afternoon. In the other she held a single battered suitcase containing what amounted to her entire life in Diagon. She had told her mum an edited version of the truth – she had a new job, a better paying job, housekeeping for a wealthy family, a private sort of family, and that she would visit when she could. The only response was a pat on the cheek and a whispered, "I'm so proud of you, dear."<p>

The gates swung wide, untouched, as though an unseen hand drew them apart and beckoned her forward. Swallowing against a suddenly dry mouth, she hoisted her case above the pea-gravel drive and took the first cautious steps onto the property.

The drive sloped in a gentle upward curve, flanked on either side by lawns and gardens clearly long gone to seed. The ivy had reached its vines down the walls and into the grass, winding around unidentifiable topiary and crumbling stone benches. A single ancient oak—warped and bent until it grew sideways along the ground—was hung with heavy moss and surrounded by a multitude of its saplings, fighting for sunlight in its all-encompassing shadow. A few shocking splashes of red, pink, orange, and yellow showed where flowers were still fighting the thigh-high grasses and wild oats. On the other side of the drive, what may have once been a glassy pond had been overtaken by cattails and water lilies, fully abloom with beautiful flowers, but each flower forced to grow beyond the water to escape the spread of lily pads.

Entranced by her wild surroundings, Hermione had not heard Andromeda's approach.

"There were birds, before," she spoke, startling Hermione enough to whirl around. "Easy there, it's only me," the witch said with a wry smile.

"Oh! Hello, sorry, I was just, um… looking around."

"I saw," Andromeda replied, her smile widening for a moment, then fading as she continued to speak. "No one cares for the grounds anymore. The gardens belonged to my grandmother… My parents had no care for tending to the landscaping. Even so, we had a gardener for the longest time. When I was eleven, he disappeared. In the next few days, so did all the birds. I haven't seen so much as a swallow fly over those walls since."

Hermione took notice of the odd silence in the area. She felt a chill race up her spine—it was eerie, how quiet the space was. There should be small creatures scurrying in the undergrowth, bullfrogs croaking out a dissonant chorus in the swampy pond, and certainly birdsong amidst the trees and brush. But the only sounds seemed to be a muffled breeze and her own heartbeat, until Andromeda broke the silence once more.

"But enough of that. What sort of welcome am I giving? Hello! Welcome to my not-exactly-humble abode." She snapped her fingers, cueing a pop of displaced air and the appearance of an elderly house-elf. "Atcham, see to it that Miss Granger's bag is placed in her room. I expect everything to be in order by the time we've walked up."

Without a word, the elf was gone again, taking with it Hermione's things.

"Come along; I thought to give you the runabout of the place before midday," Andromeda continued with a smile.

"I… Thank you, that would be lovely." Hermione prided herself on forming a sentence with minimal stuttering; she was feeling quite overwhelmed by all of this.

As they fell into step, Andromeda gave her a brief overview of the Manor grounds. "There's nothing of importance out this way, in front of the house. Off to the side there, I'm not sure if you can see it… That's the old stables; empty, now; I haven't ridden since I was a little girl. Farther around the back there's a tool shed with a back room where the gardener lived, as well as the quarters where the house elves stay."

Hermione blinked at the entirely indifferent way Andromeda spoke about servants not living in the Manor. Here, in her ancestral home, the older witched seemed even more… daunting, more aristocratic. She also looked more put-together, dressed in the same sort of tailored robes, though a gleaming emerald tone today, it was her hair that made the difference. Where it had seemed unkempt and lackluster the day before, today the sleek curls gleamed with health, the pale brown holding distinct auburn highlights in the morning sun. Her eyes still looked tired, though, the dark circles beneath them standing out painfully against her fair skin. It was only when she glanced up slightly further that Hermione found Andromeda's eyes locked into hers, sparkling with amusement and quite aware of the scrutiny she had been under.

Hermione blushed furiously and looked down as Andromeda chuckled. "Is there something on my face?"

Hermione's blush deepened, if at all possible. "N-no! I mean, sorry, I didn't… I didn't mean to stare. It's just…" She trailed off before she could dig herself in any deeper.

"I look like I've not slept in weeks, is that it?" the other woman prompted. Hermione raised her eyes once more. "Don't worry, I'm quite aware. Sleep has been in short supply while getting settled here, but hopefully that should change in the next week. Especially if I have someone else doing the cooking," she added with a wry smile. "Raising Nymphadora may have taught me how to prepare instant dinners, but Cissy won't touch anything that's been made by just flicking a wand."

In another step, they arrived at the stairs leading up to the Manor doorway. While Andromeda continued up, Hermione stood for a moment in the shadow of the imposing building, taking in the stonework that made its base, clearly visible where the hill sloped downwards. The stone merged to dark-hued wood. It seemed as though the house had been cut from some immense tree, for there were no lines to mark places where boards should have come together. Dark iron latticework covered the windows and trimmed the angles of the house. The steps she stood upon were hewn from an effervescent marble; dark greys swirled through with a brown so odd in shade it could have seemed crimson in another light. This gave the house the overall effect of being some large creature, with hair of iron, flesh of wood, and marble veins to give it life. Hermione shuddered.

Andromeda had realized by then that Hermione was still at the base of the steps, and she watched as the aura of the house had its effect on the younger witch. She strode back down and placed a gently hand upon Hermione's shoulder. "Take a moment, breathe. It is better once you are inside."

Hermione looked up, a question clear in her gaze.

"I've always felt it, too, out here. It's so… oppressive. Another reason I would hardly have chosen to live here. But truly, I've had enough time to leave my mark indoors, despite my sister's protests." She smiled. "I prefer a… kinder atmosphere."

Andromeda's hand slid down Hermione's shoulder to rest in the small of her back. It could have seemed an invasive touch, but Hermione only felt warmth, and a sense of comfort from the familiar gesture. With the faintest of pressure, Andromeda steered Hermione up the steps. As the top, she brought her free hand forward to settle neatly against the crack between the two large doors. A spark shot from each of her fingertips and skittered along the door in a display of light that formed some picture Hermione's vision could not quite grasp, and with the sigh of old entrances, the doors parted.

The atrium was cavernous; dim and windowless, yet what light there was seemed gentle, even warm; suffusing the air itself. The light was an almost physical presence, so it was a bit of a shock when an actual presence spoke from outside the light's reach.

"So this is your idea of hired help, Andromeda?"

Hermione's eyes landed upon the figure of a woman at the far end of the hall, where her face was so fully enclosed in shadows that Hermione could not make out any features. Still, the voice was similar enough to Andromeda's that she could immediately identify Narcissa Malfoy, despite the absolute lack of the warmth that was always present in her sister's voice. This voice was utterly cold, derisive, somehow scathing without even any true emotional inflection.

Narcissa stepped into the light and began a progression towards Hermione and Andromeda. An instinctual reaction to the poise, grace, and power with which the Lady Malfoy carried herself made Hermione bow her head in deference before she could even get a good look at her. Eyes to the ground, Hermione could see a pair of sophisticated black heels stop just before her. A single elegantly manicured hand rose into Hermione's range of vision, holding a sleek ebony wand. Almost going cross-eyed to keep the pale fingers within her sight, she shuddered as the tip of the wand pressed beneath her chin. The pressure increased until she raised her eyes to meet the glacial blue of those before her.

Looking up into this face, Hermione was struck by the paradox of similarities and differences between this woman and her sister. Both had the same patrician beauty; the same curve graced their lips, the same high cheekbones and flawlessly-straight noses highlighted the eyes, the same pale skin stood out so starkly against the dark circles of fatigue. Yet beyond this, Narcissa was different. Her hair was so fair as to be almost white, but her eyelashes were dark and full, drawing the gaze directly into eyes resembling some arctic landscape in their utter coldness and icy blue intensity. The other clear divide between the two sisters lay in their actions. Narcissa's dehumanizing motion of touching her only with the tip of her wand immediately reminded Hermione of Andromeda's gentle touch in the elevator as she had raised Hermione's chin in much the same manner. While Andromeda's motion had been one of gentle insistence and compassion, Narcissa's was a calculated maneuver of distain and contempt.

"Really, Andromeda? A child? What use have we for a _girl_ here. She can hardly be out of school."

Hermione felt exposed, vulnerable, scared, embarrassed… All from only a few words spoken by this haughty witch, and words not even directed at her! She wanted to turn away, run away, but Narcissa's wand and steely gaze held her firmly in place.

Andromeda stepped up to Hermione and pushed Narcissa's wand aside with two fingers. "Now, now, Cissy, be nice. This is Hermione Granger, I quite like her, and I absolutely forbid you from scaring her off."

Hermione was looking at the floor again, but she managed a smooth curtsy and a hesitant, "P-Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Malfoy."

Narcissa sniffed dismissively, but her words were less harsh. "Hmmm. Well I suppose something can be said for a servant that knows her place. At least her manners are better than yours, sister."

The heels stepped to the side and Hermione allowed herself to straighten fully and look around once more. Narcissa was moving off towards the far door, but she called over her shoulder, "You know, Bella will eat her alive when she finds out your… guest… is so easily frightened."

Hermione felt indignant, but Narcissa's words still drew a shudder from her.

"And that is why, Cissa darling, I do not intend for the two of them to make any sort of acquaintance," Andromeda said. "But I'm sure we appreciate your concern."

A cold laugh echoed from Narcissa's end of the room. "Andromeda. Really. Don't be so naïve. You know as well as I that Bellatrix perceives absolutely everything that goes on between these walls."

With that, the second Black sister was gone, and the room felt distinctly warmer to Hermione.

Andromeda sighed. "Pardon my sister. She… doesn't take well to strangers."

Hermione shook her head. "That's quite alright."

Andromeda gave a single sharp laugh. "No, it really isn't, but seeing as her… attitude… is unlikely to change, I suppose you have the right idea. Cissa can be… distant, even cold, but she isn't cruel. She's led a different life than the both of us."

"You don't need to tell me any of this, ma'am," Hermione started, feeling somewhat uncomfortable being told private things about their family.

"What did I tell you about calling me Andromeda? And no, Hermione, I do need to tell you this. I want you to be comfortable here, so you need to know what you are going to be caught in the middle of. Whatever things Narcissa might say to you, she honestly means no harm. She is not like my other sister, who might speak to you with a smile in her eyes as she rips you to pieces. That is why I'm going to ask that you stay off of the third floor, at least for a few weeks, until I can… give Bella a chance to adjust to another presence in this house."

"So… I don't have to do the housekeeping there?" Hermione asked, not wanting to sound too eager to get out of work despite her relief at Andromeda's words.

Andromeda shook her head. "Not anytime in the near future," she replied, voice flat and commanding.

Even seeing only the first two floors, the mansion was immense enough for Hermione to feel dreadfully lost and overwhelmed. Luckily, much of the house was unused—a plethora of guest bedrooms, miscellaneous half-baths, and odd little spaces filled with family portraits and mysterious artwork. "You won't have to do anything there; the house-elves take care of dusting and general upkeep in the empty spaces."

It was true. Despite the apparent uselessness of the areas, not a speck of dust or lingering mildew could be found. The house felt old, looked old, but did not smell old or rundown.

And Andromeda had been right. Inside the house, the aura was one of shocking wealth, but it was still tastefully decorated and well-lit, livening up what could have been an oppressive atmosphere.

Also on the first floor was a set of double-doors trimmed with silver vines that Andromeda said marked the entrance to the library. "No one really uses it, as far as I can tell." Andromeda made to walk past, but Hermione lingered, staring at the firmly closed doors.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Hmm? Oh, our family has long forbidden elves from going into places of learning, so the library hasn't been cleaned properly in decades, perhaps centuries. I have my private collection in my bedroom, but I simply can't stand the dust in there. Would you like to see inside?"

"Yes, please!" Hermione said, unable to contain her excitement at the thought of an entire room full of unappreciated books.

Andromeda strode forward and pushed the doors open with a short burst of magic. Hermione felt her eyes go wide in awe.

The room was clearly taller than the rest of the first floor and must have taken up half the width of the house. Bookshelves of varying height stretched out in all directions, filled with more paper and binding than Hermione had set eyes on in her life. The entire far wall was a mass of windowpanes and cloudy glass, filling the space with natural light, despite being grainy with dust. Specks of dust swirled in golden clouds on the eddies of air created by their entrance, and the spines of the books were clearly coated by the same. Towering ladders sped back and forth along the shelves by magic, creaking softly in the otherwise silent room. To Hermione, it was the most perfect place she had seen in her life. "This is beautiful," she whispered, and Andromeda's chuckle shook her from her reverie.

"Well then, if you ever feel the urge to read, or clean, or do anything else you'd like, feel free."

Hermione looked at the elder witch with a look of such utter gratitude that it brought a blush to Andromeda's face.

"Really? You… you mean that? You would let me use your library?"

"Of course!" Andromeda replied. "Nothing here is off limits to you, save the third floor. And if you do some cleaning, I may even join you here another time."

Hermione wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around the other woman, but she resisted the urge, instead simply whispering, "Thank you, thank you so very much."

Andromeda smiled at her before placing her hand once more in the small of her back and guiding her from the room. "As much can see you would be content to spend the rest of your day there, we have a bit more yet to see."

Narcissa and Lucius's room bordered Andromeda's and one other guest room on the second floor, which, as they passed, Andromeda identified as, "Narcissa's _other_ bedroom." Hermione's own chamber was slightly farther along the hallway, and they did not enter yet, heading instead to the kitchens. It was there that Narcissa appeared once more, this time with her husband.

They stood at the far end of the elongated kitchen, and from the charged silence that hung in the air, it was clear that Andromeda and Hermione had interrupted something. Narcissa stood with her back pressed into a cabinet, leaning back, wand out and aimed at Lucius. The man's stance was threatening, leaning forward, clearly the reason for Narcissa's defensive position. Still, he straightened immediately when he realized they had company.

Narcissa straightened as well, expression implacable. "Lucius, meet the new help," she said flatly.

As Lucius turned his gaze to Hermione, she took a moment to realize that she intensely disliked this man. He had yet to speak a word, unlike his wife, who had been quite unfriendly, yet Hermione did not instantly dislike Narcissa the way she disliked her husband. Perhaps it was the way his gaze met her eyes for only a moment before straying down her chest, or the way he looked down his nose at his own wife, or even simply the way he flicked his cloak over his shoulder in an overly self-importantly manner. Whatever it was, it was only reinforced when he spoke in a nasally drawl that made Hermione's skin squirm.

"What's this? We've employed a child?"

Andromeda snapped out, "Manners, Lucius." Hermione's eyes widened; Narcissa had said much the same thing, yet it had not drawn this sort of instant anger from Andromeda.

Narcissa looked right into Hermione's eyes as she replied to her husband. "Yes, Andromeda is fond of her for some reason, so I'd suggest you treat her cordially, if that is even within your realm of ability."

Her voice was utterly scornful as she spoke; seeming to dismiss her husband in every way possible as she flatly insulted him without even meeting his eyes. Hermione found herself unable to break the strange magnetism of that icy stare, until Andromeda placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

"_Behave,_ you. Lucius, if you so much as insult Hermione, I will know about it, and you will not be pleased with the results."

Lucius's eyes darkened with anger and he stepped towards them, advancing across the room until he stood directly before Hermione. She refused to cower from this man; he provoked little true fear from her, only a peculiar hatred she trusted quite well. She met his gaze until it was him that broke it, trailing down her body in a way that made her feel truly angry. He murmured, "Now, perhaps we got off to a hasty start, don't you think, girl? You and I could be friends, could we not?"

He reached a hand out to grab her waist. Hermione, suddenly feeling anxious, stepped back and raised her own hand to halt his motion. Without warning, his hand shot out and slapped her across the cheek. She gasped as her eyes watered and she staggered back a pace. She would have fallen had not Andromeda's waiting arms caught her in a firm but careful hold. She wrapped her arms around Hermione's waist and pulled her back against her, raising a gentle hand to cup the cheek that Lucius had struck.

"Know your place, _girl,_" Lucius snapped out, before his eyes suddenly bulged in his head as he slumped sideways onto the ground. Narcissa stood behind him, wand raised, anger clear on her face. She stepped to him and flipped him over with one heeled foot.

"We may be married in name only, but Merlin help me if I have to watch you touch another woman while under the same roof as me. You will _never_ lay a finger on her, or you will find yourself sleeping on the third floor. Is that clear, _dearest_?" Narcissa spat out the last word with biting sarcasm, digging her toes harder into the immobilized man's side.

Hermione's cheek stung, but her eyes widened as she heard Narcissa—who had called her a child mere moments before—call her a woman. Andromeda had not yet taken her arms from around her waist, and even though Hermione had quite regained her footing, she did not try to pull herself away. She felt safe, here. As Narcissa lifted the petrifying spell, the arms held her tighter for a moment. Lucius glared daggers at her as he stood and strode from the room with what little dignity he had left.

Narcissa pocketed her wand once more and Andromeda slowly allowed Hermione to pull away, asking, "Are you alright?"

Hermione swallowed, unable to meet either witch's eyes. "I'm fine. But… I don't know if I should be here. I don't want to cause you any trouble, and clearly I'm not wanted here. Perhaps you should hire a real… hire someone different… someone older than—"

Andromeda cut her off. "No. This is not any trouble of your making. I'm terribly sorry that Lucius did that… I had no idea he would even spare you a moment's notice; he has been so withdrawn lately."

Hermione hesitantly addressed Narcissa, "But I don't want to… to affect your marriage, ma'am." I didn't mean to cause any more difficulties here…"

Narcissa gave a dismissive laugh. "You aren't. There is no marriage for you to affect. Besides, we need a cook. I _will_ have a decent meal before tomorrow, and so long as you are willing to make it, you stay."

Hermione was shocked. After her first impression of Narcissa, she had expected her to send her out the front door as soon as possible. Instead, however cold the words, she was still making it clear in some odd way of hers that Hermione was welcome here. So, as years of cautious tact had taught her to do, she changed the subject.

"Very well, ma'am. Now, not that I have any problem cooking for you, but… why do your elves not cook?" Hermione asked tentatively.

It was Narcissa who answered her. "There used to be many more elves in servitude to the Black family, but… Bellatrix killed the last of mine in a fit of anger and 'Dromeda's were set free when she came of age and had… no interest in claiming her inheritance." Narcissa gave a derisive sniff. "The two we still own technically belong to Bellatrix, but the third, which used to do the cooking, died while she was in Azkaban. Did something wrong and punished itself to death without Bellatrix around to tell it 'enough'."

Hermione gasped aloud, covering her mouth with her hand. "That's dreadful!"

Narcissa shrugged. "Well it certainly was a waste."

Hermione's eyes widened, but she withheld the urge to speak again. Still, in her mind, she thought it was even more horrible that this woman clearly didn't see the elves as living beings, merely as a thing to use at her convenience.

Andromeda gently stroked the backs of her fingers against Hermione's reddened cheek. "You sure you're alright," she asked kindly, staring directly into Hermione's eyes.

Blushing, Hermione nodded.

"Then perhaps you would like some time to get acquainted with the kitchen and your room before lunch? Don't worry; you don't need to cook today."

Despite feeling a moment of utter panic at the thought of Andromeda going away, Hermione managed to nod slightly.

"Very well. I'll send one of the elves to your room at the first hour to fetch you for lunch. Until then, I'd recommend you stick to the kitchen or your chambers." She pulled Hermione into a quick hug, the gesture of affection making Hermione wonder once again at the utter lack of care she seemed to have for Hermione's position in life. Pulling back, the older witch looked into her eyes and said, "I'm so glad you're here."

"Let the girl be, Andromeda," Narcissa said, an odd undercurrent of amusement clear in her voice.

Once the two sisters had left, Hermione rubbed harshly at her eyes with her palms, feeling the sting in her cheek and wondering what in Merlin's name she had gotten herself into.

Andromeda was kind to her, so much kinder than she could have ever expected any pureblood to be towards… towards someone like her. But she was still so very much a pureblood. She still made Hermione feel even smaller than she usually felt, but in an almost… comforting way. She made Hermione feel safe, very safe, and that thought scared her. She had worked in a pureblood household before; she couldn't afford to feel safe.

And Narcissa… Hermione was somewhat frightened of Narcissa, but still oddly drawn to her. She seemed so distant, unaffected by anything, until suddenly she would speak or act and she held such power. Hermione felt guarded towards her. There was clearly more to this woman than a pureblood trophy wife or a cold-hearted witch.

And Lucius. Hermione shuddered even thinking the name. There was a man of cowardice and cruelty all wrapped up in one unpleasant package. She had felt the stares of drunken lechery on her before, at the bar, but she knew how to handle sad or lonely drunkards. Even angry drunkards. But a sober, angry man who still looked her with desire was something she had little experience with. Well, none, to be honest. Men who weren't drunk didn't pay her much mind in Diagon. She wasn't pretty; she was worn, tired, and far too undernourished to be pretty, she had always been told. But she guessed Lucius's attentions were more to spite his wife than any real attraction, which only made him more dangerous. Hermione despised creatures like him, people who had no real aura of power, yet who used magical or physical superiority to intimidate those weaker than them.

Still, she needed this work. She needed to help her family. And that library, all that knowledge, Andromeda to teach her, it had to be worth living in this madhouse.

As she finished taking stock of the kitchen, she felt a half-hysterical laugh bubble up from the depths of her chest as she thought; _I haven't even met the one who's actually supposed to be insane._

When Hermione entered her chambers for the first time, she thought she had gone in the wrong door. Stepping back into the hallway, she reoriented herself, double checked, and still found herself outside the same door, walking into the same rooms. Rooms that couldn't possibly be intended for a servant.

The bedroom was done in shades of cream, bronze, and chestnut, with olive-trimmed rugs and drapery. It was twice the size of the most expensive suite at the inn, and had a full-wall window seat that overlooked the wilderness of the grounds. The bed was a queen at least, and, when she ran tentative fingers across the sheets, they felt softer than anything she had touched in her life, softer than the silk sheets she had been in charge of washing at the home of her last employers. The room was lit by magical torch, to be dimmed or brightened by only a spoken command. A writing desk, two chairs, and a bedside table made up the rest of the furniture.

There were two other doors in the room. One led to a spacious bathroom, with a nicely-sized tub and glass-encased shower. The other was a closet, in which her few garments were already hanging. It was only then that Hermione truly accepted that she was going to be staying here, in the nicest room she had seen in her life. She was hardly able to wrap her mind around the fact that, as of yet, she had not truly been treated like a servant in any way other than the words of the Malfoys, and in Lucius's cruel temper.

Sinking down into the welcoming softness of the bed, she could almost feel the stress of the past weeks fading from her body and leaving only wonderful warmth and an overwhelming desire to close her eyes. Giving in for what she thought would be just a moment, the last thoughts to pass through her mind were, _I… I could get very, very used to this. I'm not going to let myself be scared away. So long as I'm wanted, so long as Andromeda wants me here… I can let myself have this. As long as I don't forget how quickly this could end, as long as I don't let my guard truly down… I can let myself have this._

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><p><strong>AN for the chapter: **When I said it would be a while between updates, I didn't truly mean this long, but… excuses are superfluous. Sufficed to say it may well happen again, but I'll do my best to be quicker. Also, I did say this story was going to be a slow build-up, no? So apologies for the long and drawn-out introductions to our housemates and their home, but that's how I do these things. Hmm… am I coming across as grumpy in this author's note? I am, aren't I. Probably too tired to be publishing this… Ah well, hope you're still here!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Narcissa, Hermione/Andromeda. And possible combinations therein, depending on my whim or the desires of my darling readers.

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><p>Lunch was a small, cozy affair, if anything can truly be called cozy in a place so very <em>large<em> as Black Manor. Andromeda was waiting for her in the kitchen once the same elf had woken her from her nap.

"I hope you won't mind that I haven't pulled out the finery or moved us into the dining room for lunch, but Narcissa, Lucius and I have developed a little routine and it includes only dining together at dinner. Otherwise, I prefer the kitchens, Lucius dines in his chambers, and Narcissa takes her lunch upstairs with Bellatrix."

Hermione couldn't help but arch an eyebrow at the further hint of animosity lingering in this household. "That's quite alright, ma'am. If I won't be a disturbance, I'd certainly prefer the kitchens."

The older witch chuckled. "I do wonder how long it will take to break you of that. It's Andy, please."

Hermione blushed. Addressing her employer by her given name was going to take some getting used to.

"And you certainly won't be a disturbance. I'm glad for any company that I'm not related to. Here—"she gestured to a stool across from her at the small central table. "—take a seat."

Hermione sat, noticing that while the kitchen was clearly designed for functionality, it was not meant to be used in a real dining situation, having only a table for perhaps three people, and only two padded stools. Of all the rooms in the house, it was the least… pretentious. Though cooking wasn't Hermione's favorite pastime, she thought she could be quite comfortable here. As Andromeda slid a plate with a simple meat, cheese and greens sandwich across the space, a thought occurred to Hermione.

"How should I deliver meals to each of you? Is there someplace I can—"

"—No, no, you needn't deliver anything. If you set out plates on the counter in the morning and at midday, the elves will bring them when desired."

Hermione paused with the sandwich halfway to her mouth. She set it back on the plate. "What exactly _am_ I to do, then?" Wincing at her own curt tone, she hastened to add, "I don't mean any disrespect but… If all I'm expected to do is cook a few meals, you're overpaying me."

Andromeda looked amused. "Hermione, Hermione, what _am_ I to do with you? I do believe I've gone and found the only scrupulous servant in the whole of Diagon." She leaned across the tabletop as though preparing to reveal some huge secret. "You do realize there probably isn't another witch or wizard in the country who would be willing to work under the same roof as Bellatrix, no matter what the price? Regardless, if Cissa gets a decent meal, if I get some decent… entertainment… out of teaching you, and if Bellatrix doesn't kill you, well, you'll have certainly earned you keep."

Hermione couldn't help but think that, when she put it that way, it all sounded a bit more reasonable and significantly more insane.

"As for what you're to do, I doubt you'll ever find a boring moment under this roof. You'll have the cooking, then I'd like to come up with some sort of schedule to work with you on your magic, but aside from that, your time is your own. I have a feeling you plan on spending some of it in the library?"

"Oh, yes!" Hermione answered, beaming brightly at the older witch before trying to curb her excitement at the prospect of visiting that wonderful room again in favor of keeping a professional demeanor.

Andromeda chuckled at Hermione's mirth, standing and starting to gather up their plates. Hermione made a small sound of protest, reaching for the plates, but Andromeda waved her off. "I am a mother, you know; I'm no stranger to doing dishes. It's just the cooking I never could quite get the hand of."

Hermione resumed her seat.

"Now, I was thinking we could have your lessons in the morning, whenever you've finished up with breakfast. I often go to meetings at the Ministry after lunch, so if we work early in the day you'll have the afternoon to yourself. Would you be comfortable starting tomorrow?"

"That would be wonderful," Hermione replied, "I'm so—you have no idea—I'm… so grateful for this."

The corner of Andromeda's mouth turned up in what Hermione had long thought of – in the privacy of her head – as the _pureblood smirk. _All the guests of the family she had been a nanny for had seemed to use it as their only form of showing their amusement, but somehow it looked rather endearing on this particular face.

"You're quite welcome, though I don't know what you're thanking me for, yet. I have a feeling you won't be quite so grateful after you've been knocked on your arse a few times working with defensive magic."

Hermione's voice was embarrassingly breathless as she replied earnestly, "Oh, I'm certain I still will be." But Andromeda didn't seem to notice.

* * *

><p>Hermione spent the time between lunch and dinner walking the circuit Andromeda had escorted her through earlier, seeing how many rooms she remembered without prompting, peering once more into those she didn't. She thought she must look rather like a thief, increasingly nervous of being caught wandering despite the fact that she had been given explicit permission to roam these two floors. As she entered the stairwell to return to her chambers, she could not help but pause on the landing and crane her neck to peer up the next flight of stairs. She wondered what the rooms of a madwoman would look like. She tried to imagine them, lots of dark colors… crimson, obsidian? Torture chambers where the eldest Black sister could enact dreadful scenes on figments of her fractured imagination? A cell? She couldn't picture Andromeda allowing either of those last two into her home, but who knew how much control Andromeda really had over her sister.<p>

A door slamming somewhere below her sent her scurrying back to her rooms, idle musings finished for the moment. She began more closely examining the bedroom, finding heavy parchment and fragile, fledgling-fletched quills in the drawer of the writing desk, along with squid ink in a delicate crystal bottle. She recognized the distinctive purple-black with the remembrance of the utter impossibility to get it out of her clothing when a wealthier guest at the inn had spilled a vial while signing the guestbook. She decided to write a letter to her mother. She had told her she was leaving, but knew that her mum would be worrying until she heard from her.

Dipping a quill and carefully scraping the excess against the lip of the decanter, she began.

_Hi, Mum,_

_ I've really found a touch of luck with this place. The work is light, the people are _

Then she stopped. What on earth could she say? She could hardly say, 'good' or 'kind' or 'reputable' or any of the usual things one would say of their employers. She settled for

_interesting, and my rooms are a wonder. I'm staying in the main house, in my own chambers, and I think you'd like the décor…_

She soon filled half the roll of parchment with sugar-coated, lighthearted words sure to leave her mother smiling. She thought she could work up the courage to ask Andromeda to let her use one of their owls to send it, or she would stop by Plumage's Post the next time she was in town. She couldn't bear to visit in person very often, because it worried her mum more to see how tired she was than it did to simply keep herself at a distance.

The pop of displaced air accompanied the same elf once more into her rooms.

"Dinner," he said briskly, already raising his fingers to snap himself away once more.

She realized that she was unsure exactly what that meant. She had been told she would start preparing meals tomorrow, but was the elf a summons to join the family in the dining room or to make herself something in the kitchens? In the household of her prior employment, she would not have hesitated to heat up whatever leftovers the family had from the past night's dinner, but, from what she knew of Andromeda, she had a rather frightening inkling that she would be expected to dine with them tonight, like some sort of guest.

She recalled an entrance to the dining room through the kitchens and figured it to be her safest choice. The kitchens were dark, so she pushed through the swinging doors into the chandelier-lit dining room; perhaps more appropriately entitled a dining _hall_, in honor of its fairly monstrous size.

She found the center table empty, a massive, oaken affair that could seat twelve, sixteen, perhaps twenty bodies. Clearly, it was not intended for a simple evening meal.

A smaller table on an elevated dais across the room was occupied by the Malfoy couple, sitting across from each other in a parody of familial closeness betrayed by the look of distaste simmering behind Narcissa's cold eyes whenever she looked at her husband. Hermione already felt out of place in her worn, simple, hand-me-down black robes, but Andromeda entered from the main door just as Hermione was beginning to fear she would have to approach the hostile environment at the table alone.

The younger witch let out a sigh of relief at Andromeda's welcoming smile and quick, beckoning flick of the wrist. Lucius's head turned to follow his sister-in-law's gaze and glowered at finding Hermione there. She winced, thinking longingly of the simplicity of dining alone in the kitchens, but Andromeda had already crossed the room and taken her elbow in that warm-yet-commanding grip, steering her towards the table. By some small mercy, Andromeda took the seat beside Lucius, leaving Hermione to settle tentatively into the space across from her and beside her sister. Narcissa did not seem inclined to acknowledge her presence at all, but Lucius certainly did.

"Andromeda, what is the meaning of having this… filth at our table."

Hermione's eyebrows raised as both sisters replied in unison, "Watch your tongue, Lucius."

Her mouth quite positively dropped open when she saw Andromeda smile fondly at her sister and heard a quiet chuckle drift from Narcissa's lips, a shockingly warm sound, laced with genuine affection and a delicate mirth that softened those icy features into something perhaps… snowy. Still cold, but not so brittle.

Lucius looked livid, but bit his tongue as Andromeda gave him a skin-melting stare. Returning her eyes to Narcissa, she noted, "We used to do that all the time as children – people thought we were twins until my hair darkened." It was clearly a tactic meant to draw attention off of Hermione, and she was grateful for it.

Narcissa's gaze was clearly somewhere in a far off memory, but she murmured, "We did, didn't we. Talking together. It drove Bella cra—" Her words jerked to a halt, slamming into that wall of phrases that just didn't quite come out right, and the brief moment of warmth was shattered.

Lucius crushed what remained under his arrogant heels when he shoved his chair back from the table with a screech of wood on marble and rose. "You two may be set on this illusion of courtesy, but I am still the head of this house and I'll be damned if I'm going to eat my meal with a hired hand."

Before he could finish his over-dramatic exit, Narcissa's voice rang out with the precision of a well-timed blow. "You are not and never will be part of 'The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.'" She spoke the title with an odd mix of pride and… if Hermione was not mistaken, sadness. "What little there is left of it will never accept you, and you have _never_ been the head of any household I've chosen to live in."

Lucius spun back on his heel to face them, wand flashing into view from within his sleeve, "You will not talk to me that way. I've tolerated this behavior since Draco ran off, but you are taking it too far."

"Don't talk to me of _tolerance,_ Lucius," Narcissa replied, a glint of burnished wood flashing between her knuckles as well.

As Lucius approached, Hermione fought the urge to slide down under the table or slip away into the kitchens. She wasn't afraid of Lucius, not after seeing him taken down a notch by his wife earlier, but she was still cautious of the rage in his eyes, and even more cautious of witnessing something she shouldn't. She knew very well what happened to servants of purebloods who saw or heard things they weren't meant to. They disappeared.

Andromeda intervened. "Lucius, perhaps it would be best for you to take your meal in your chambers tonight." Her voice was as cordial as could be, yet there was a bite behind it, a sheath of velvet over a blade of steel. Hermione had a feeling she would run with her tail between her legs to be on the receiving end of that tone.

For a moment, it seemed he would ignore her, but a glance between the eyes of the two sisters told him that Andromeda's words were likely to be his only chance to walk out with a semblance of dignity. He took it.

When the door had shut behind him with an echoing boom, a measure of tension seemed to leave Narcissa's shoulders, though her posture remained rigid.

"Cissa, why do you keep putting up with this?" Andromeda asked softly.

Narcissa did not seem inclined to answer. Instead, she snapped her fingers, summoning a female elf Hermione had not seen before. A tray hovered in the air beside her graced with four bowls of a delicious-smelling soup. Hermione took a sip, marveling at what a few more pricy spices could do to what she recognized as a pre-made wizard meal. Narcissa had also taken a sip, but her face was a study in distaste. "I know you have an odd attachment to the girl, 'Dromeda, but I really would have preferred a meal tonight over this show of our… hospitality."

Hermione was beginning to understand some of what Andromeda had said about her sister. Narcissa was… genuine. She spoke her mind with little regard for those she considered beneath her, but she wasn't… rude. She was unapologetically pureblood, highborn, used to getting what she wants, but she wasn't cruel. While Lucius spoke with blatant arrogance of a sort he did not seem to have earned, Hermione could see that Narcissa's pride came from somewhere within her, some part of her so intrinsic to who she was that it only seemed right for her to, well, rule; to lord over those around her. She could hardly imagine Lucius ever holding any authority over this woman, yet it was clear he never stopped trying.

Glancing across the table at her employer, Hermione mused that Andromeda had many of those same qualities; though it was clear she tried to lessen their effect. Andromeda had that same presence that marked her with an almost royal authority, but she had put in effort to become part of the plebeians. She was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and despite having spent years in a world she did not truly belong to, she returned to her own world as easily a snake sheds its skin. She belonged in this room surely as Narcissa did, but her time apart had taught her a kindness Narcissa had never known. A kindness that came through in all she had said and done for Hermione, in sparing the life of Bellatrix Lestrange, in that knowing smile she was now aiming towards Hermione across the table, a smile that seemed to say Andromeda knew that she was the object of the younger woman's thoughts, and didn't seem to mind in the slightest.

"She starts tomorrow, Cissa. I think your patience will last till then," Andromeda replied, eyes still on Hermione.

Narcissa sniffed delicately.

The rest of the meal passed in near silence. Andromeda occasionally tried to draw the others into conversation, but her sister's terse replies discouraged her while Hermione was far too nervous to offer any sort of dignified exchange. She was far too focused on the most decorous way to eat the larger pieces of vegetables from the soup to converse.

Narcissa was the first to leave, rising wordlessly and following the path Lucius had taken from the room, though hers was a much more graceful departure. Hermione made to follow, rising and starting to gather both her and Narcissa's bowls, but Andromeda laid a hand on her wrist to stop her motion.

"The elves will take care of that. Sit with me for a moment."

Nervously, Hermione complied.

There was no sound from the elder witch for a few heartbeats, prompting Hermione to look up and meet her gaze. Andromeda slid her chair closer and rested her elbows on the table. It should have been an undignified motion, yet it was done with that effortless grace the woman seemed to possess, the arms moving together, fingers twining elegantly to provide a resting place for her chin. She quirked her lips opposite the tilt of her head, and Hermione once more stopped herself from staring too long, glancing around rather awkwardly, unable to maintain the intensity of that gaze.

"I can't seem to tell if I fascinate or frighten you," Andromeda said lightly.

In a surprisingly candid moment, Hermione replied, "Both." She blushed at her own response, but did not look down at the table, even daring to meet the other witch's eyes once more. She saw amusement there, genuine, and some other emotion she could not identify.

Andromeda's smile widened into something almost… predatory. "Wonderful."

In that moment, Hermione couldn't quite seem to look away. She was trapped, falling into eyes which seemed to hold more life in this single moment than Hermione had lived in all of her eighteen years. Then, Andromeda laughed brightly, head tipping back, and the moment ended.

"I've got a few things to sort out this evening, so I'll let you alone until tomorrow. I hope I don't frighten you so much that you won't meet me in my study tomorrow after breakfast to start working on some magic?" she inquired, eyes flashing, words lilting, teasing.

"O-of course not," Hermione replied, wishing her veins were too tired to draw the blood for a blush up her cheeks. They weren't.

"I'll see you then. Goodnight, Hermione." She rose and crossed behind the younger witch's chair, resting a hand briefly on her shoulder.

"Goodnight, ma'—Andromeda," Hermione replied, just managing to bite off the end of 'ma'am'.

The hand on her shoulder slipped a few inches down her back as Andromeda pulled away with a whispered, "That's better."

And she was gone.

* * *

><p>The next morning saw Hermione waking with the dawn, light from between the half-open curtains prying her eyelids up and drawing her across the room. Years of waking with the first glimpse of daylight had made if near impossible to sleep past sunrise, even if she had the time or inclination, and she seldom had either. A glance at the clock above her bed told her it was just early enough to start on breakfast.<p>

Awaiting her in the kitchen were four scraps of parchment covered in what she presumed was Andromeda's neat, efficient script, as she doubted anyone else in the household would have thought to leave her a description of the various things each did not like to eat. Eggs made Lucius ill, Narcissa did not like any strong flavorings - onions, garlic, peppers, and the like - Andromeda wrote that she herself had an insatiable sweet tooth, and Bellatrix wasn't picky. Fresh breads and fruit were delivered twice weekly. Anything else she needed she could write on a grocery list and leave it for the house elves. They all preferred a light breakfast.

She set on a kettle to boil for tea, and then scanned through the pantry shelves once more. She decided to play it safe, murmuring a spell to quickly toast two pieces of dark, artisan bread for each of them, then charming the sink to wash strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries while she opened a package of yogurt for parfaits. Finding a jar of hazelnut spread in one of the cabinets, she spooned a small amount into the bottom of each cup before adding the layers of fruit and yogurt. She spotted a bag of Honeyduke's Chocolate Hearts on the shelf just as the female elf popped into the kitchen. The elf appeared elderly, with a tiny, wizened face and startlingly clear green eyes. She was dressed a grey scrap of fabric which, though worn through from washings, at least appeared clean. Many households did not even allow their elves to clean their single garment, so this was an improvement at the very least.

"Rommie is to bring food to the master, now," the elf said.

"Just a second," Hermione murmured, unable to resist the urge to crumble a bit of chocolate atop Andromeda's parfait in honor of her "insatiable sweet tooth."

"That one is for Andromeda, is that alright?"

"Of course, missus," Rommie replied.

Before the elf could snap away, Hermione added, "Call me Hermione, please. We're to work together, after all."

"Of course, missus," Rommie replied, looking at the ground before disappearing, leaving a crack of displaced air and one less plate of breakfast.

As Hermione nibbled at her own toast, leftover berries, and yogurt, the other plates disappeared one-by-one. Andromeda's was the last to go, and Hermione waited a few more minutes before heading to her study on the first floor.

Fairly certain she had remembered the right room, she knocked.

"Come in," Andromeda called.

She was seated behind a wooden desk of a dark-stained cherry wood. The wall behind her was a mass of maps, pictures, and unidentifiable scraps of paper broken up by two great slashes of window overlooking the drive. The other walls were bare stone, as necessitated by the wall sconces that must light the space at night. A thick carpet decorated the floor, and the only other furniture was a bench beside the door and three chairs, one in which Andromeda was sitting, the others across the desk from her.

She looked up as Hermione entered, gracing her with a distracted smile before scribbling something final on the paper in front of her and slipping it into a drawer. She snapped her fingers and the male elf appeared to take away the remnants of the breakfast Hermione had made. She was rather gratified to see that the only thing remaining were crusts from the toast.

"Will that be all, Miss Andy?"

She waved him off.

Returning her attention to Hermione, she gestured at the wall behind her. "Pardon the mess, but this was my mother's study, and I haven't had the chance to figure out what half of that even means, let alone whether or not I need to keep it. Have a seat, make yourself comfortable."

Hermione sat.

"I know you said you've not had a formal education; is it too invasive to ask exactly how informal we're talking about, here?" Andromeda asked.

It was that gentle, understanding tone that had drawn out Hermione's life story in the lift... was it only two days ago? My, how time had flown. "Not at all. I learned about the same as any other wizarding child until I turned eleven; you know, reading, writing, basic spell casting we aren't supposed to know. But when my letter came from Hogwarts, my parents had to tell me they couldn't afford to lose my help around the inn, so since then I've learned only what my parents taught to help around the inn and whatever I could from books and friends who went to school. I'm not utterly useless, just... not very well-rounded."

Andromeda hummed in contemplation. "Interesting. I'm actually quite intrigued by some of the possibilities here. Do you know anything at all about magical theory?"

"Only a touch of transfiguration. I-it's my favorite, the first section I always headed for at the library. It's the only subject I learned in any sort of order. Otherwise, I've always just..." Hermione wasn't sure whether to continue. There were things she had done with magic, things her peers had said didn't work, said were impossible. The pause had become awkward, though, so she took a deep breath and finished. "I've always just... put things together. I read whatever I could get and if there was a spell I needed but couldn't look up, I would... push two together, or the ideas of them, and it usually just... worked." She waited for Andromeda to laugh at her, to say she was crazy, that the only people who made up spells were old witches in the Ministry's Department for the Creation and Production of Conceptual Magics. Andromeda did not laugh.

"Oh, yes, this is lovely! See, I've never much approved of Hogwarts. They have some of the most talented minds in the wizarding world on their staff, and still they manage to be so dreadfully closed-minded about some things. They teach to a test, all of them, teaching spells as a manner of 'memorize these words' and 'now flick your wand like this' and why not dance a jig while you're at it? That's bound magic, and it's bullocks. Big, fat, hairy, camel bullocks."

Hermione couldn't hold in a giggle. She would not have pegged the poised woman across from her as the type to curse like a sailor.

She continued. "Incantations and patterns were only invented in the last thousand years or so, if you'll pardon the history lesson. It's sort of like spoken, written language. There are many different dialects, alphabets, phonetics, to use to communicate, yet they're only words for bigger concepts, concepts that exist whether or not we give name to them. Both Wizardkind and Humankind were communicating long before we had given words to the powers we wielded. You don't actually need the phrases and traceries to practice magic; in fact, it isn't even a more advanced skill to use nonverbal magic. The problem is that when children are taught from an early age to only do something one way, it becomes increasingly difficult to counteract all that... programming. You, on the other hand, are a child of circumstance, so you've already begun working with unbound magic, something I was fascinated with when I was working with the Aurors."

"Unbound?" Hermione prompted, intrigued. Andromeda was a natural teacher, a born storyteller, as Hermione had already learned from their chat in the café the day they met. She was animated in a very subtle way; all flashing eyes, words that wrapped around your mind, drew you into her, and a minimum of those distracting hand motions the average person would use for emphasis.

"Yes, although that is perhaps a misnomer. After all, even unbound magic requires a wand, for the most part, because wandless magic is an entirely different skill. Unbound magic is akin to the magic that Muggle-borns use without their knowledge before they learn of their skills. It is an innate part of every witch and wizard. Some would call binding your magic with spells and the rotes of wandlore a shortcut and the most… proper form of magic. In reality, the only thing it is better for is its safety. Magic was always meant to be free, yet just encasing it in human form is a sort of trap. Some of the more radical members of this branch of study call it enslaved. Still, there is nothing we can do about that – we are born with magic inside of us, and taking it out would kill us. Still, without trapping magic, it is very difficult to control, so we bind it with incantations.

"As you've probably noticed, creating magic casts off a burst of light, color, smoke, or at the very least, sound. That is the magic eating away the prison of the binding spell."

"I've never heard anything about this!" Hermione couldn't help but exclaim.

Andromeda smiled indulgently. "No, most never do. Most never care to. I'm getting to the why of that."

Hermione blushed. It was always a rush whenever she could learn something new, discover some piece of the world she had not yet exposed, and she tended to forget her manners. "Sorry, ma'am."

Andromeda quirked an eyebrow. Hermione hurried to correct herself once more, blushing. "Sorry, Andromeda."

"Better." She smiled. "Moving on, can you picture those sparks, those flashes of light? They're often violent, regardless of the nature of the spell. Now, imagine using your body for that purpose, without the go-between of a spell to bind it."

Hermione gulped audibly, wondering how many of her patchwork spells could have killed her.

"That's the danger of unbound magic. It can eat you alive, from the inside out, one piece at a time, or all at once in a fiery blaze. It has happened before. I'd say you've been lucky, as you have at least been binding your spells with an idea of their purpose, if not the traditional spellwork that should accompany them. But unbound magic can be some of the most powerful, some of the most exhilarating, and some of the most natural magic a witch can perform, if you can control yourself.

"I want to teach you – wait! Don't protest yet, I can see it scares you, but I can promise you will be safe with me. I'm not the most skilled witch in the traditional sense, in many ways, I would say that would be Bellatrix, as much as I am loath to admit it, but this has been my passion for years. I worked closely with Minerva McGonagall herself on the theory of unbound magic. Let me teach you, please. Give me this much trust."

Somewhere in the middle of her speech, Andromeda had moved to the chair beside Hermione, and it was a tribute to the enthralling qualities of her voice that, in truth, Hermione had not even noticed. Now, she took Hermione's hands from where they gripped her armrests and intertwined their fingers, drawing them into the older witch's lap.

"You can still learn spells, the library is completely at your disposal, but this is the sort of opportunity I've waited a lifetime for! A mind like yours; so much potential yet so open, so vulnerable to new ideas, new truths. You're old enough to understand the need for care, old enough to control yourself around this sort of power, yes, but, Merlin, your mind is so exquisitely uncorrupted. Let me have this, please."

Hermione's 'uncorrupted' mind was whirling. Some of what Andromeda was saying terrified her, certainly, yet some of it called to her. Part of her knew she could never regain all she had missed in the years she should have been at Hogwarts, but this, this would give her an experience none of those children she had longed to be had ever had, would ever have. And the way Andromeda spoke, Merlin, it was entrancing, enticing. Hermione felt wanted in a way she had never felt in her life. There was a possessiveness to Andromeda's words that should perhaps have bothered her, but it felt… right.

"A-alright. Yes. Merlin knows what I'm getting myself into, mind you," she said, trying to sound firmly reluctant while really feeling far too excited for the fear to last too long, "but I'll do it. I… I do trust you. I'm not sure why but… I do." Besides, after putting her up like this, taking care of her mum and dad, she couldn't exactly afford to decline.

Andromeda was positively beaming. She drew Hermione up by their joined hands and pulled her into a firm hug, wrapping her arms around her neck and drawing her close. Without pulling back, she spoke into the younger witch's ear. "You won't regret this, Ms. Granger. I won't let you regret this."

Something about that last phrase was mildly alarming to Hermione, there was something dark to it, but Andromeda's embrace was warm and Hermione could blame her goosebumps on the breath feathering across the pulse point behind her ear, so she chose to forget it.

Andromeda drew back slowly, separating their bodies but recapturing Hermione's hands. She was perhaps a palm's width taller than the younger witch, so Hermione neck was tilted back to meet her eyes. Again, there was something there, in those strangely provocative eyes of hers, and Hermione wanted to dive into them and swim until she found all the answers, all the secrets, but a knock on the door made Hermione startle backwards, wondering how long she had been standing that close.

"Andromeda!"

"What do you want, Lucius?" Andromeda replied, clearly exasperated. "I'm busy."

"My bloody wife has disappeared yet _again_. If she's in there tell her she damn well has to talk to me _sometime,_ or I'll—"

"—Or you'll what, Lucius? She isn't here anyway. If you knew Cissa half as well as you should you'd know she'll be found when she wants to."

"By Merlin this house isn't that big! I'm not going to…"

His words trailed off into the distance as he paced away, leaving Andromeda and Hermione behind and entirely unsure what was supposed to come next.

"I suppose that was enough of a shock to dump on you in one morning, no?"

As much as Hermione would have loved to sit here all day, to learn as much as she could from the most engaging woman she had ever met, she knew a dismissal when she heard one.

"Same time tomorrow?" she asked, trying not to sound desperate.

"Of course. And you're welcome to… talk to me anytime, know that," Andromeda replied. "My doors are always open."

Hermione was unsure why that drew a blush, yet once again her cheeks were betraying her. "Thank you. I'll, um, keep that in mind."

She turned to go.

"Oh, and Hermione?"

"Yes, ma'am?" she asked, wincing when she realized she had dropped her name yet again, but Andromeda let it slide.

"Thank you for the chocolate - it's my favorite. Close the door on your way out."

* * *

><p><strong>AN for the chapter: **I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. Can't believe how long I left this untouched. But… I'm going to let you in on a little secret: I started this story because I was bored of my primary fandom, and I wanted to write something different and edgier and darker and… then my muse returned to me, and I – temporarily, I promise! – abandoned you. But inspiration is a fleeting thing and I grasp it where I can, and now it is drawing me back into this world, so here I am. Feel free to yell at me. Really, do. Still, I hope the length makes up for something. I'm a loooong chapter writer, 5,000 words at least, so when you get something, you really get something. Also, I would love to know what you, my darling readers, want from this story. Usually, when I set out to writing something, I've got the whole thing scripted in my mind, every scene, every major interaction. This, as I noted above, was more of an outlet for my cravings to write something different, so I'm entirely open to your requests, suggestions, and desires. Would you care for a teaser? Or is that just cruel? Ah well: Next chapter we get some bonding time between Hermione and Narcissa, as well as our first real BellaMione interaction, though in a rather unexpected way.

Hope you don't hate me!

-Zarrene.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Andromeda, Hermione/Narcissa. Read author's note below for more information.

* * *

><p>As she settled into her first week at Black Manor, a pattern began to weave its way into Hermione's days. She dove headfirst into the challenge of creating a menu of sorts for her employers; one which did not require an excessive amount of time on her part, but which would also draw no complaint from any one of her more intimidating superiors. The plates would disappear from her kitchen artfully arranged with her foods of choice and reappear almost entirely empty, to be met with a relieved sigh, knowing she had yet to utterly fail. She often tried to engage the two house-elves, Rommie and Atcham, in conversation, but unless addressed with a direct request for help they would respond only with varying degrees of, "Yes, missus."<p>

Andromeda made it clear she was welcome to dine beside her, but Hermione chose to take her meals in the kitchen, and the issue was not pressed.

Her morning lessons were fast becoming a highlight of her day. Andromeda never seemed to judge her based on any semblance of a traditional magical standard; rather, she spent the first week merely feeling out Hermione's strengths and weaknesses. The young witch discovered much about herself in the process, often surprising herself with her own abilities. Her patchwork education may have been lackluster, but her strength was not. Even without training, she had built up a level of control quite beyond her age, which Andromeda speculated as a mixture of the repetitive tasks she had undertaken in her home and her self-inflicted fluidity within the world of magic.

* * *

><p>Hermione thought Andromeda's testing peculiarly haphazard, and it was beginning to feel redundant, but it was this realization that led the younger witch to connect the dots and see the pattern Andromeda was weaving for her. It was in this pattern that Hermione found Andromeda's true genius at teaching. Without her realization, Hermione was beginning to… well… <em>see <em>the spells. No, that wasn't quite right. It wasn't physical, wasn't visual. It was something more than even perceptual. It was an unconscious categorization, an assignment of spells based on the tasks they performed. By leading Hermione's already known magical abilities into recognizing the similarities and differences in their purposes, Andromeda was teaching Hermione a new system for merging and creating her unbound spells.

When Andromeda saw that Hermione had figured it out, perhaps three days into their meetings, she graced her with one of the approving smiles Hermione was becoming almost dependent on. "Ah, so you've noticed the method to my madness? Excellent."

Though Hermione was still rather timid around the family in everyday interactions, she had developed a sort of rapport with Andromeda that existed within the four walls of her mother's study and allowed her to speak more freely.

"This wasn't really a test at all," Hermione mused aloud. "You could have gauged my abilities in a day at most, but… this was the first lesson."

Andromeda nodded and arched an eyebrow, prompting Hermione to continue.

"These spells… they're… related?" Andromeda made no more to reply, so Hermione continued, trying to sound more sure of herself. "I'm beginning to… anticipate the sort of spells that you're going to ask for next. I can _feel_ how one spell will lead into another, or how the last two could mix."

Andromeda smiled once more and elaborated on Hermione's assumptions. "Precisely. While a school curriculum would teach you spells in broken, distinct divisions with names like Charms, Transfigurations, Divinations, Defenses, Herbals… magic simply isn't that—"

"—linear?" Hermione offered, then bit her lip. She always had a nagging habit of wanting to pipe up when she knew where a lesson was going, but interrupting was probably not the best idea, and it wasn't the first instance she had done so with Andromeda. "Sorry," she murmured.

Andromeda merely gave her an indulgent smile and a soft chuckle. "Correct, again, Ms. Granger. Five points to Slytherin!" At Hermione's confused expression, Andromeda was quick to add, "Not that you would have been a Slytherin, as such. I was one – merely a reflex to give points to my old house. I can't see you in silver and green, though. Perhaps a Ravenclaw… even a Gryffindor. Who can say?"

Hermione's mind connected the references to the stories from the other Diagon children, stories of a singing hat and house rivalry and common rooms in dungeons and towers. She had lived in her imagination back then, begging her friends for tales to feed her fantasies of a life she might have had.

Andromeda's eyes had darkened. "I must say, I'm having a hard time feeling charitable towards your parents, right now. It was absolutely criminal to not send you to school. I don't doubt that you could have been quite the brightest witch of your age."

Hermione blushed and shook her head. "Hardly," she replied, trying to brush off the compliment.

"I'm serious, Hermione. Not that I'm not thrilled to have you all to myself, but you would have thrived at Hogwarts."

Though years of seeing herself as the lowest end of society had taught Hermione little self-worth, she couldn't help but brighten at Andromeda's words. "Really?" she asked cautiously, as though afraid the words would be taken back.

"Of course. I could see you as quite the teacher's pet," Andromeda said with a wry smile. "McGonagall would have adored you… the librarian would have known you by name… I bet you would have been the only student awake in the entire classroom during History of Magic."

This drew a smile from Hermione. She had heard of the ghost teacher with the voice dry and monotonous as unsweetened rock-cakes.

Andromeda returned to the lesson in a matter of a moment. "But it does no good to dwell on might-have-beens. Where were we?"

"Magic isn't linear?" Hermione prompted.

Andromeda went on to explain that types of magic are much more circular. There are three broad categories, for convenience sake: Transfigurative; spells which change the form or purpose of an object or idea, Charming; spells which cause an object or idea to perform an action, and Engaging; spells of an offensive or defensive nature, most commonly used in dueling. All magic fell into at least one of these categories, but many fell into two or all three, hence, the only way – Andromeda insisted – to organize magic was to picture a loop where one type flowed into another and another and right back to the start.

* * *

><p>By the end of the week, Hermione had added her own twist to this system for her sanity's sake. She began thinking of Transfigurative, Charming, and Engaging spells as the primary colors, red, blue, and yellow. When she needed a spell that both transfigured and charmed, she could reach into her mind and swirl her imaginary pallet, plucking out the proper shade of purple and casting a spell. It was trial-and-error, at first, to find exactly which end of the spectrum spells would fall into, but the longer she spent in that room with Andromeda, the more missing pieces seemed to fall into place, the more magic seemed to peel itself open to her, and the more enthralled she became.<p>

Andromeda seemed to feed off of Hermione's successes. The first time Hermione managed a spell she had no name for, it triggered the older witch's eyes to gleam with a sort of biting joy. No matter how tired Andromeda appeared when Hermione entered, she seemed rejuvenated by the time the younger witch left, as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders with each spell Hermione cast.

Magic was only one piece of Hermione's interactions with Andromeda, though. Andromeda Black, Hermione decided, was a very… physical person. She would often pace the room, her circuits leading her time and again to wherever the younger woman sat or stood. Many of these passing moments resulted in a quick brush of fingers across Hermione's shoulders or down her arm, or perhaps a lingering hand at the small of Hermione's back. In her moments of instruction, she frequented the chair across from the younger witch and had taken to picking up one or the other of Hermione's hands between her own, playing aimlessly with her fingers as she spoke.

It was distracting to say the least.

The woman moved in a way Hermione admired too much to envy, with a sort of fluid grace to her every gesture that drew the eye and snared it. As much as Hermione thirsted for learning, as much as she listened raptly to every piece of knowledge Andromeda could impart to her, she found that it took little more than a casual touch to fracture her attention and leave her scrambling to catch up to the last words.

The side-eyed smiles Andromeda gave her when she stumbled over her own tongue began convincing Hermione that Andromeda was quite aware of the effect she was having on the younger witch, and took some strange pleasure in setting her on edge, but she pushed the thought from her mind, thinking she must just be looking for something that wasn't there.

* * *

><p>It took a nearly disastrous attempt at a simple unlocking spell for Andromeda to notice the decrepit state of Hermione's wand. Andromeda was having her cast spells she would typically use an incantation for, spells she already knew, but without speaking, something Hermione found rather more challenging than creating a silent spell she did not actually have a name for. As she flicked her wand while drawing out a shade of pale blue from the depths of her mind, a sliver of splintering wood from the handle pricked her forefinger and snapped off, slipping into her skin.<p>

Hermione let out a muffled curse at both the sharp pain in her finger, and the state of the lock she had been aiming towards, which was now a steaming mess of melted metal. "Oh, bugger!" She slid down into the chair behind her.

Andromeda caught sight of a drop of blood as Hermione lifted her finger to her lips, sucking at the cut.

"Are you alright?" she asked, ignoring the faintly smoking floor and pulling Hermione's hand towards her.

"Fine, I'm grand, really. Happens quite a bit. I'm terribly sorry about your lock!" she added, wondering how much the silver-embossed thing had cost. "Merlin, I'm sorry, I should have thought before I cast on something that val—"

Andromeda held up a hand, cutting her off. "It's alright, really. I'm much more worried about having pieces of wandwood under your skin." She was inspecting the splinter in Hermione's finger with a critical eye. "Don't move," she ordered, kneeling down and resting Hermione's wrist on her thigh as she reached into her sleeve for her wand. She lifted the younger witch's hand once more and placed the tip of her wand beside the sliver of wood. With a muffled incantation, Hermione felt a soothing warmth spread into her fingertip and leak down into her palm. She felt no pain when Andromeda gently extracted the offending splinter, but she felt a different sort of warmth when her finger was tenderly lifted and brought to Andromeda's waiting lips. They closed about Hermione's fingertip in a leisurely motion, cheeks hollowing in a soothing pull, tongue flicking over her small injury in a teasing caress.

Hermione could not seem to pull her eyes away from those lips; she had no control over her own hand, Andromeda's fingers controlling hers as surely as her lips were controlling the very pulse that beat at her throat. When the lips slowly parted, allowing her hand to escape with a final, lingering brush against her lower lip, Hermione had to relearn how to breathe.

"Had to make sure there weren't any more… splinters," Andromeda whispered, voice entirely too husky for the safety of Hermione's stuttering heartbeat.

"T-thank you," she managed. She glanced down at her hand, noticing there was not so much as a lingering twinge of pain or a faint prick mark.

"Of course," Andromeda replied, rising once more and extending her hand to help Hermione from her seat. Hermione accepted the proffered palm with her now-uninjured hand and stood. Andromeda did not let go. She absent-mindedly toyed with Hermione's fingers as she picked up the old wand Hermione had dropped on the edge of the desk with her other hand. "By Merlin!" she exclaimed softly. "I can't believe you haven't killed yourself with this!"

Hermione ducked her head, embarrassed in a helpless sort of way whenever she had to watch as someone like Andromeda witnessed the things she lived with. It was one thing to wear the same three sets of house-friendly robes; after all, she was technically a servant here, and she kept them clean and well-fitting. It was another to have to use a wand that could easily do damage in this house, damage she certainly could not afford to repair, but what could she do?

"I'm sorry, really. I'm used to its… moods. It's been a long while since it bit me like that," she joked halfheartedly. "You can take the damages out of my pay, and I'll polish it tonight…"

Andromeda shook her head. "If you polish this twig down any further, you'll be casting with a chopstick!" She dropped the wand and Hermione's hand in one motion. Hermione nervously knitted her fingers together, fingertips drumming agitatedly against the backs of her hands.

In a swift motion, Andromeda cradled Hermione's cheeks in her palms and tilted her head up to meet her eyes. Once she had the younger woman's full attention, she let her hands slip to her shoulders instead. "Listen to me, Hermione. I'm not going to dock your pay for an accident. I would never do that. You needn't apologize to me; I couldn't care less about the bloody lock. I'm worried about _you._" Her hands squeezed Hermione's upper arms. "You can't know when something could go wrong! With a wand as old as that, the best you can hope for is that nothing explodes when you use it. I'm amazed you went these last few days without an accident." By this point, her palms had slid down Hermione's arms and were now grasping the younger witch's hands once more. "I know you have a… thing… about earning your keep, that you don't want charity from me, but the next time I'm near Ollivanders, I'm going to get you a new wand, one that will not only not kill you, but which will be made to answer to you, and I don't want you to say one word about paying me back."

Hermione wanted to protest – Andromeda had already done so much for her! But as the older woman raised Hermione's hands to her face, pressing her knuckles into her lips and looking down at her with pleading eyes, she could hardly deny her.

"I – alright," she muttered reluctantly. "I – thank you."

Andromeda's eyes brightened and she grinned. "Brilliant."

Her lips graced across the back of Hermione's hand in what could have been a butterfly kiss, but could have just as easily been a simple side-effect of letting go.

* * *

><p>For all that she spent every morning with Andromeda, this was only one of the facets of the twisted family Hermione was living amongst, and she was beginning to find herself just as intrigued by a second Black witch, one whom she found herself crossing paths with more and more.<p>

Starting her second day, Hermione took to the library after lunch each afternoon, cleaning and organizing and flipping through pages in equal measure. On her second visit, she found that she was not always the sole occupant of the neglected room.

* * *

><p>Standing atop the second-to-last rung on the ladder, Hermione used the tips of her fingers to slide a book into its proper place on the shelving. Reaching for its neighbor, she nearly tipped off when the library door opened with a creak to admit the frantic-eyed form of Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione froze, never sure what to expect from the withdrawn, volatile woman. Narcissa peered around for a moment but her eyes did not stray to the upper recesses where Hermione perched. Letting out an audible sigh, Narcissa grabbed a book from the nearest shelf and slumped down into a neighboring loveseat, kicking off her shoes and swinging her legs up and over the far armrest in a picture so lacking in grace or decorum that it drew a startled laugh from Hermione.<p>

In the high-ceiled, echoing chamber, the sound carried, and Narcissa immediately jerked up into a standing position, drawing her wand and demanding, "Who's there!"

Not wanting to end up on the wrong end of a defensive spell, Hermione called out in a trembling voice, "It's just me, Hermione. Sorry if I disturbed you, ma'am."

Finally identifying the source of the voice, just visible above a row of bookcases, Narcissa gradually lowered her wand. "Whatever are you doing in here, girl?" she asked sharply. "No one comes in here," she added, voice lower.

Hermione debated climbing down so as not to continue the conversation at such an awkward angle, but felt oddly safer in the heights. "Yes, Andromeda told me as much," she started cautiously. "But… I… I've never been around so many books in my life, ma'am, and I… I do so like them. I hate to see them left untended. I thought… I thought to use my spare time to dust and put this space in order." Hermione was aware that she was babbling, but the unreadable, calculating look that was affixed to the other woman's face seemed to draw out almost pleading explanations. "I had no idea anyone else would come here. I can go…"

Though her face remained impassive, Narcissa shook her head. "Oh, don't leave on my account."

"No, really, it's no trouble… I—"

Narcissa cut her off. "—Stay," she said, voice firm, commanding.

Knowing better than to argue, Hermione was left to fidget awkwardly atop a ladder, unsure whether it would be rude to continue her work. Narcissa seemed prepared to ignore her presence once more, settling back into her seat, though with a great deal more grace and poise this time. So Hermione turned and pulled the next book from the shelf, resigning herself to having an audience.

Her organizing strategy was haphazard at best, rather like the solitaire card game _Clock_ played by wizards and Muggles alike. Each time she came across a book in her dusting that wasn't where it belonged, she would pick it up, bring it to a more suitable category, and begin dusting there until she reached another book that needed a new home. In this way, she was often forced to traverse from one end of the chamber to the other and back again in only three books, but it was the only way she could think of doing this without leaving piles of half-organized books behind when she left later in the afternoon.

Today, she could feel Narcissa's eyes on her each time she crossed the space where the elder witch sat; sometimes even when across the room, but if she chanced a glance over her shoulder, Narcissa would appear engrossed in her book. Hermione made a game of attempting to see the title, either written across the top of the page, or along the spine, or even on the front cover, wondering what sort of books a true Lady read. However, despite many roundabout paths taken, Hermione couldn't quite grasp hold of the illusive words.

After a time, Narcissa rose gracefully, pocketed the small book in the depths of her robe, and departed the library, leaving Hermione feeling relieved, but oddly… alone.

The next day found Hermione once more tidying a row when the door creaked open and the same pale figure entered. Her eyes immediately locked into Hermione's. Narcissa gave a curt nod, acknowledging her presence, but said nothing. She settled into the same chair, and Hermione went back to work.

She couldn't help but cast a few glances towards the blonde figure, though. She was dressed as impeccably as ever, in a manner Hermione would have considered more appropriate for a luncheon than a chair in the library of her own home, but it was fitting for what little she knew of the witch. She wore light robes of a deep sea-green, which, Hermione thought, had they been a shade lighter, could have made her look as pallid as a drowned corpse. Instead, the rich shade leant her skin a pearl-like tone and darkened the crystalline blue of her eyes. She quickly glanced back to the shelves when Narcissa looked up, but watched from the corner of her eyes as the fair witch scanned briskly from side to side, as though hunting for an unseen observer, before casually toeing off her polished black boots and tucking her feet daintily beneath her.

Hermione could have thought it amusing, but instead found it rather sad. She tried to imagine what sort of life this woman had led that would lead her to believe that being seen relaxing in her own home was a sign of weakness.

When Narcissa was settled into her book, Hermione began scaling the nearest ladder, holding two books on wizarding history which she knew belonged on the uppermost shelves, not down below with the healing texts. This ladder was rickety, and a bit twitchy, wanting to scuttle away like a shy puppy whenever she approached it, but it always seemed to settle down nicely once she was on it.

She caught Narcissa's eyes on her as she was nearing the top but pretended not to notice, focusing instead on finding the proper brass plaque labeling the section she wanted so she could come down quickly. She wasn't afraid of heights, per say, but she wasn't thrilled by them, either, especially when perched on a wobbly ladder. She spotted books of a similar nature to the two she carried and slid them carefully into their slots.

When the ladder Hermione had ascended suddenly slid sideways with a sickening screech, the ultimate form of toe-curling nails-on-blackboard magnified by the cavernous room, Narcissa cried out harshly. "Stop! Stop," she said again, tone calm once more. "Get down, now."

Hermione, frozen since the ladder had moved with a distinct lack of her permission, unlocked her limbs with a conscious effort and tried to slow her racing heart. She cautiously descended, wondering exactly which of her actions had triggered the Lady Malfoy's demand. She kept her chin down when she reached the floor, not approaching the figure in the chair, as though clinging to the shelved-in row would provide her some sort of buffer from any impending punishment.

"Come here," the older witch snapped, sounding impatient for the first time.

Stifling a whimper, Hermione cautiously approached until she was close enough to view Narcissa's footwear without raising her gaze from its submissive posture.

The blonde witch sighed. "Relax, girl," she muttered, though her tone was not encouraging. "I'm sure you'll go right back to your cleaning and climbing once I've gone, but for the moment I have no desire to watch you nearly kill yourself on these ancient ladders. Get a book. Sit," she added, gesturing to the chair opposite her own.

Hermione stood frozen for a moment, weighing out the words in her mind. Though spoken with a substantial degree of condescension, Narcissa still spoke with a semblance of true care for Hermione's well-being. A bit timidly, she picked up a book she had selected to borrow earlier on ancient runes and sat at the very edge of the chair the fair-haired witch had indicated, shoulders hunched inwards protectively.

Narcissa gave an amused sniff. "I don't bite," she said drolly.

Hermione flushed and forced herself to relax and open her book, but the letters seemed to swarm like so many flies on the page, darting in and out of her vision and only managing to point her attention back to the woman seated opposite her. By the time she had read the same page seven times, glancing reflexively up at Narcissa every few lines, the other woman finally spoke.

"What are you reading?"

Hermione jumped in her seat at the unexpected words, not actually able to comprehend that the Lady Malfoy was asking her a question in a conversational manner. "P-pardon?"

Narcissa sighed and closed her book. "I see little point in sitting here and reading when you cannot seem to keep your eyes on your own book and I cannot read when someone is staring at me, so I think an attempt at conversation should be made, to save us both a degree of… discomfort."

Hermione was sure her cheeks were a shade of pure crimson by that point. "Sorry I… I didn't mean to stare, ma'am."

Narcissa quirked an eyebrow. "Of course," she said in a tone so flat that the haughty cynicism could not even roll off of it.

Hermione was fairly certain her cheeks had impossibly darkened. She wondered idly what sort of spell she could cast with the color she turned at her most embarrassed. Shaking off her nervous musings, she decided her best bet was to scrape up some remnant of dignity and answer Narcissa's original question.

"_Ancient Runes in the World of the Modern Wizard,"_ she said, awkwardly half-lifting the book from her lap.

"Hmm," was Narcissa's only reply, though her other eyebrow had joined its twin, rising above her eyes in a way that spoke of grudging surprise.

When nothing further was offered, Hermione found herself speaking, though she was honestly sure she had not meant to. "There were so many books; I simply couldn't decide where to start! I've always loved languages, though – learned quite a bit of Mermish from a travelling fisher-wizard at the inn, and he always told me the best way to learn history is through language…" She bit off the words and looked down. When Narcissa still did not speak, she slowly raised her eyes, expecting a reprimand for her one-sided dialogue.

Instead, she received a calculating look and a small, dry smile. "And here I thought my sister said you were uneducated," Narcissa mused, half to herself. She cocked her head in a very birdlike manner. "But ancient runes are hardly light reading."

Hermione haltingly replied, "I… You would certainly consider me uneducated, ma'am. But… I like to think that I've learned more than some my age have read in all their fancy schooling."

Narcissa hummed again, blinking slowly. "I'll admit, you're… intriguing… for a Mudblood." Hermione did not flinch at the word. She had been called worse, and, coming from the Lady Malfoy, it was almost too expected to be insulting. "It's not often I have someone who can speak as well as a highborn calling me 'ma'am'."

It was a compliment, in a roundabout way. Hermione had always prided herself on sounding as learned as she could, purposely avoiding the commoners' talk her mum and dad conversed in by paging through the dictionary in the mop cupboard whenever her dad wasn't around and the drunkard who always stayed upstairs tried to get frisky with her, and by listening to people around her who spoke with that little lilt to their words that told of a different upbringing. She could sound as demure and polite as she needed to work for purebloods and Ministry-folk, but she _never_ had to sound ignorant.

"Well… I try, ma'am."

Now, Narcissa's lips quirked into something almost real. "I think I could like you," she said, voice almost too soft for Hermione to catch the words. "Or at least your taste in pastimes," she added, voice growing more distant again. Still, she spoke to Hermione, and that was more than she had expected, away from Andromeda's mediating presence. "I had a taste for languages when I was younger; nothing like the half-breed tongue Merpeople speak, but I did enjoy high Elvish, and the many dead wizarding languages provided some amusement."

Hermione's eyes brightened. "High Elvish? Why, I thought the last of the Elvin Scrolls were lost in the Archives Fire at Athens?" One of her favorite presents she had ever received had been a used copy of _A History of the Ancient Races_ her father had found when a long-departed guest had never returned to claim his belongings. It had been her tenth birthday, and she had read it over so many times since then that she had had to re-stitch the bindings by hand on three occasions.

Again, Narcissa's face slipped into a mask of grudging respect at Hermione's apparent interest. "Something can be said for having private libraries passed down through generations of pureblood families."

"You have Elvin Scrolls in _here_?" She had yet to even approach the oldest parts of the library, those against the far wall, afraid to damage the racks of scrolls and tablets, remnants of a time long since passed.

"Among other things," Narcissa replied. "I've been reading through these shelves since I was a girl, and I have yet to run out."

Hermione glanced around the room once more, unable to comprehend how Narcissa could have spent her time in here without having it cleaned. "If I may, why have you let everything get so… run down?"

"Disorganized, dusty, filthy, you mean?" Narcissa's face, which had become almost animated when talking about the books, seemed to be shutting in upon itself. "If the space looks as though no one has entered in years, no one thinks to come in."

"But—" she started.

"—This is a place I go when I do not wish to be found, Hermione." It was the first time, Hermione realized, that the youngest sister had addressed her by name. Despite the harsh tone of the words, it was a pleasant change. Narcissa's voice was brittle. "I will explain this to you once, and only once," she continued. "Because if I am to share this space with you, I had best be able to trust your… discretion."

Hermione nodded her head quickly. "You don't need to explain anything to me, Lady Malfoy. I know better than to betray any confidence of my employers."

"Mm," Narcissa mused. "Perhaps. And still… I find I'd rather you not think I've neglected these halls needlessly."

Though she would never have spoken that thought aloud, it had crossed Hermione's mind.

"As I'm sure you're aware, my husband and I are not on the most… congenial of terms, at the moment."

Judging from the many times Hermione had rounded a corner to find the couple quarreling at wand-point, that was an understatement.

"He has his reasons, I have mine, but he is more fond of confrontation than I. When I am not in the mood to deal with his… petty grievances and childlike pride, I come here."

Hermione felt torn. Part of her felt real fear, fear that some piece of what Narcissa was telling her could come back to haunt her, that if she ever reconciled with Lucius, Hermione would become someone who knew something she did not want the rest of society to know, and that would make Hermione very… disposable. But another part of her – a foolish, soft-hearted part – kind of wanted to give the cold, distant woman a hug and tell her that she understood perfectly, that she, too, found comfort and safety in books, though in a different manner, of course. Still, Hermione did not have a suicide wish, so she merely sat and tried to keep a neutral, understanding expression on her face.

"He doesn't look for me here – I doubt the man has ever set foot in this space, and he would not suspect if of me." She gave a self-depreciating chuckle. "He has never bothered to notice that his wife has a brain in her head to match the face he married for the public sake."

For the first time, Hermione was able to let go of some of the deeply-buried envy she had for the life of a wealthy pureblood. She had never truly wanted to be one, but some part of her had still longed for the security, the money, the education; but this, to have to marry someone based solely on blood, not love, not passion, not even intellectual compatibility… it was not a pleasant thought.

"So this is where I come, when I can get away without his notice. All of the books have a basic wear-and-tear protection spell, as well as numerous anti-aging charms, so I've let the dust… stay. It makes for a useful little deterrent to most visitors."

"Does that mean you'd… rather I not clean in here?" Hermione inquired.

Narcissa shook her head. "Ah, no… no. The place deserves a good cleansing. If Lucius expresses the slightest interest in what you've been doing, don't mention this little project of yours, and I quite doubt he'll push the matter."

Hermione nodded earnestly.

Narcissa's confession created a semblance of peace between the two witches, a façade of trust and an interesting illusion of respect that allowed for the trappings of conversation to grow up around it. For the next hour, words were traded on-and-off.

Hermione, feeling a change of subject was needed, judging from the fragile look on Narcissa's face when she was speaking about her husband, nervously inquired what the Lady was reading.

Narcissa appeared amused that Hermione had the gall to actually attempt to initiate a new topic, but she did reply. "Light, leisure reading at the moment. Just a little old-fashioned wizard fiction for a change. Nothing I'd recommend."

Hermione's curiosity was piqued, but she didn't want to push her luck, so instead she asked, "What _would_ you recommend, ma'am?"

Much to Hermione's astonishment, Narcissa seemed perfectly willing to discuss literature with her. By the time Narcissa stood to leave, more than an hour had passed in a quiet exchange about the noteworthy contents of the Black family's legacy library.

* * *

><p>Throughout the week, Hermione fell into a system with the blonde Black. She would arrive perhaps an hour or two before Narcissa and work at her cleaning and sorting, but she would hop down from the ladders the moment the older woman arrived and settle into her usual seat. Narcissa seemed to have two moods: talk, or read. Hermione could tell between the two because, if she felt like talking… she would start talking. And so, her afternoons became full of companionable literature, either in reading side-by-side, or talking quietly of what they read.<p>

She became much more comfortable in the fair witch's presence, as long as her husband was not around. In fact, when she finally remembered the letter she wanted to send to her mother, it was Narcissa she asked first.

"I think Andromeda keeps a bird in her rooms. I just use the house-elves, though," she replied flippantly, as though the idea of sending elves to Diagon with the mail wasn't even an inconvenience for them. She made a mental note to inquire with Andromeda, next.

Outside of the library, Hermione almost never caught more than a glimpse of Narcissa, perhaps talking in emphatic whispers with Andromeda, arguing at wand-point with Lucius, or disappearing up the third flight of stairs. Still, as little as she saw the two Black sisters outside of their nearly scripted times in the study and library, she still knew generally where they could be found at most times of day, still heard heels echoing on flagstone or marble. Andromeda and Narcissa were presences in her life, which made the absence of the third sister that much more noticeable.

It weighed on Hermione in her moments of free thought that there was a fifth presence in this house that she had absolutely no true awareness of. She had never heard so much as a whisper from the rooms above her, let alone caught a glimpse of the mysterious, maniacal third sister. The stairwell became a guilty obsession for her. She would linger on the second-floor landing for longer and longer pauses each time before entering the halls leading to her chambers. She would sit in the little stairway window ledge with a book borrowed from the library, rather than read in any of the more comfortable settings; the library chairs, her own bed. Narcissa had seen her there once, but had merely given her an implacable look before moving on without a word. Andromeda's chambers were closer to the other stair, so she had not discovered Hermione's strange pastime.

She couldn't seem to help herself – she was curious by nature.

Her curiosity only grew worse when she received concrete proof of the final sister's presence, on a night exactly a week since her first in the Manor.

* * *

><p>Hermione woke to darkness in a moment of gut-wrenching panic, something solid, heavy pressing down on her stomach, restricting her breath. She froze, eyes wide and unseeing, not daring to so much as breathe. When the weight remained unmoving, she inched quivering fingers beneath the sheets, layers of the finest cloth beginning to feel like a prison. Feeling cold air against her fingertips, she wrapped a grasping hand around the well-worn handle of her wand, drawing it back towards her.<p>

Don't panic, don't panic, she told herself.

The weight shifted, a sinewy motion, and something sharp pressed against a line of bare flesh on her side. She shuddered. Her motion triggered a strange sound to peal into the room, a garbled murmur, not threatening, but certainly not human. Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the faint starlight dripping in through the window, and she caught a glimpse of a flame-orange eye peering intently at her through the darkness.

Voice quavering, she whispered, _"Lumos."_

There was a bird on her chest, and it wasn't a small one, either.

The eyes were closer to yellow in her wandlight, hooded enough to seem to be glowering menacingly at her. Its head shot forward, trying to bite the ball of light off the end of her wand, but she jerked her hand back, making the bird squawk and hop backwards, spreading wings to a distance nearly as wide across as Hermione was tall. She let out a rather undignified squeak and scuttled upright until her back was pressed against the headboard. Then, she proceeded to have a staring contest from one end of the bed to the other.

It was a pretty bird, she thought, once she got over the sheer size, the sharp talons, and the demonic eyes. It was some sort of owl; coloring similar to a calico cat, all blacks, whites, and greys interspersed with a tawny orange-brown. Tufts of black fuzz stuck up from the corners of wide, round eyes, forming little fluffy horns. In its threatened posture, the head had tucked back into a frame of raised wings, and its small black beak looked almost comical amidst all that feathery indignation.

After a moment, the owl relaxed and raised up its foreleg, revealing a bit of rolled-up parchment grasped in its talons.

Hermione swallowed nervously, wondering if she were in some sort of trouble. A bird this big usually meant business, and not of the pleasant sort. Still, she knew better than to ignore a mail-bird, so she clutched the uppermost blanket protectively around her shoulders and crawled rather clumsily towards the owl. When she stretched out her hand to take the parchment, the owl darted that smallish beak down and snapped it closed about the meaty part of Hermione's hand with surprising strength.

She yelped, snatching her hand back, luckily taking the parchment with her. Expecting the bird to leave now its job was done, she was left to glare at the owl when it simply continued to sit at the foot of her bed, looking very satisfied with itself.

Letting out muffled curses and cradling her lightly bleeding hand against her stomach, she undid the little piece of ribbon holding the roll closed with her teeth and shook it out flat. It was little more than a scrap; fancy paper covered in only a few sparse lines of hasty, childlike scrawl.

_A little birdie told me my sister's pretty Mudblood wanted to send a letter. I thought it a perfect chance to say 'Hullo, I know you're here!' _

_You should come and see me sometime. It's awful lonely on the third floor. _

_Have the bird; doesn't like me, and he bites like the bastard he is. _

_Best regards, pet, _

_Bellatrix._

* * *

><p><strong>AN for the chapter:** I'm a rambler when it comes to author's notes; that's why I put them at the bottom, so you don't have to scroll through them to get to the story. This one is especially long. Feel free to ignore my comments here, though some of them may impact you, darling readers.

Firstly: Everyone wants me to update sooner, which is to be expected after my apparent reasonless hiatus last time. I swear to do my utmost to acquiesce, but it isn't going to be, "once or twice a week," as one…enthusiastic reviewer demanded. I'll try to keep it to every-other-week at the longest, but I have a busy, busy life. I'm not a casual writer. I'm a huge proponent of quality over quantity. I don't spew out words on cue to meet a deadline, I write during the moments of my life which will provide you with my best work, so feel free to scold me, yell at me, curse my snail-like pace… it motivates me… but I'm not likely to actually change. (Sorry about having to reread, believe me, I felt the same way when I started writing again.)

Secondly: I seem to have some quite differing demands as to where this story should go. I cannot, sadly, accommodate all of you. My solution is this: In this main body of work, there will not be any Blackcest. Bellamione will not be the sole pairing, but it will (unless you hate how I write Bellatrix, who knows, I've never tried) be the primary. There will be ABSOLUTELY NO HET anywhere in this story – I can't write it, can't read it, can't ship it. NOW as for those of you who begged for Hermione all mixed up with the lovely Black ladies in all sorts of duos, trios, foursomes, etc., I don't intend to abandon you. If you keep reading along with me, when I reach the point in this story where the… ehrm… fun starts to happen, I'll write you a pretty little off-shoot of what could have happened had the three sisters reached a compromise over Hermione that involved all of them. I'll post it as a separate fic to appease the Bellamione purists, but it will follow along the basis of what's happening here, and you can choose whether or not to read it. This part of the story will go on as though the offshoot did not exist. I hope that satisfies as many of you as possible, and if anyone is truly unhappy with it, feel free to PM me and demand changes. You might be surprised at how willing I am to compromise.

At your service!

- Zarrene.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Andromeda, Hermione/Narcissa.

* * *

><p>"Andromeda?" Hermione called out tentatively, knocking softly on the door to her chambers. She had been sitting in her room long enough to decide that she couldn't exactly keep the bird perched on the back of the desk chair forever. It was the middle of the night, but she had a feeling that Andromeda would rather be woken than have a giant owl tearing apart her house. "Andromeda?" she tried again, slightly louder.<p>

"Hermione?" she heard from within, voice husky and rasping with sleep. A moment later, Andromeda opened the door, wrapped in a silky robe of midnight blue which was hanging open almost indecently at the neckline. Trying and utterly failing not to blush, Hermione firmly affixed her eyes to Andromeda's face instead, noticing that bedhead gave her hair wild curls which she had to hold back from her eyes in a most unrefined way. It was sort of adorable, but paired with the amount of skin exposed below, it was wreaking havoc with Hermione's heartbeat.

"I'm really sorry to wake you, ma'am…" Hermione started, but it seemed Andromeda was not too sleepy to give her a reproachful look for using a title over her name. "…Andromeda, but, erm…" She really wasn't sure how to put this. "Your sister just sent me a really big bird, and I'm not sure what to do with it."

_"What?"_ Andromeda asked, suddenly sounding much more awake.

"B-Bellatrix," Hermione added. "I woke up and there was this huge owl just… just sitting on me. And… it had a note from Bellatrix."

Andromeda stepped aside, briskly pulling the flaps of her robe together and tying it shut as she gestured for Hermione to come in. "Bellatrix contacted you?" she asked. "Sit," she added, all business, gesturing aimlessly over her shoulder as she turned to light the lamp behind her.

Hermione sat in a bedside chair, blinking in the dim light that filled the room. Andromeda's chambers were laid out similarly to Hermione's, though with an extra door in the far wall. It looked slightly more modern in décor than her own, with cleaner lines to the bed and furniture, paler woods, little metal, and trappings in shades of a delicate peach and darker olive to match the odd floral wallpaper that bordered the ceiling. It wasn't anything Hermione would have pictured, but Andromeda fit the room nicely all the same.

"Note," Andromeda added. "You said she sent a note? What did it say?"

Hermione nervously tugged the now lightly crumpled note from the pocket of her robes and handed it over. Andromeda snatched it from her fingers with a haste Hermione realized was coloring all her motions. She seemed far more on edge that Hermione would have expected, almost frantic.

The parchment was crumpled and tossed down with a sound of frustration. Hermione bent reflexively to snatch it up.

"Blank. Of course. Damn my sister and her meddlesome—"

"What?" Hermione asked, smoothing it out once more and scanning the words it held. "It isn't blank… It says—"Hermione's eyes bulged and she grasped her throat frantically as her tongue seemed to swell within her mouth, going hard and dry as dust for a few panic-stricken seconds. The feeling faded quickly, leaving Hermione coughing and drawing in heaving lungfuls of air. Andromeda stood behind her, rubbing soothing circles on the younger woman's back and murmuring platitudes of comfort.

When Hermione felt a degree of calm return to her, she risked a questioning glance at the witch behind her. Andromeda let her hand rest between Hermione's shoulder blades, heavy with the weight of the sigh she released before speaking. "Clearly, my dearest sister does not wish me interfering in what she has decided is her business. She's put a secrecy charm on that parchment; don't hurt yourself trying to tell me what it says."

Hermione stared down at the paper, reading over what she considered the relatively harmless words it contained. "It really doesn't say all that much," Hermione spoke with caution, afraid of how much leniency the charm would give her. "But I'm sorry all the same."

"Oh, don't be. As with the many little… peculiarities that come with living under these roofs, my sister's brand of madness is no fault of yours." Andromeda had begun pacing, clearly agitated by some part of their exchange. She walked from window to door to chair and back again, robe fluttering behind her. After a time in which Hermione nervously fidgeted with the paper she still held, the other witch finally spoke. "The bird. Is it still in your room?"

"Yes," Hermione answered, glad of a word she could speak freely. "She…" Hermione hesitated, but decided to try. "ShesaidIcouldhaveit," she blurted, all in one breath, then sucked in a quick gasp of relief when she felt no ill effects. At Andromeda's quizzical look, she reiterated, "She said I could have it; the owl. She, ah, knew I'd wanted to send a letter."

Andromeda's eyes widened, then narrowed to accusatory slits. "When have you been around my sister?" she asked, voice uncommonly shrill.

"N-never!" Hermione stammered, suddenly afraid of the look in the middle sister's eyes. "I barely mentioned it in passing to Lady Malfoy and…"

The charge left Andromeda tone as quickly as it had come. "Ah. That… yes."

She sat slowly at the edge of the bed, facing Hermione where she perched in the chair. She gathered the younger witch's hands in her own, and Hermione could feel Andromeda's slight trembling. She stared beseechingly into Hermione's eyes. "Why didn't you just ask me?" She sounded almost hurt.

Hermione looked down. She still felt a lingering fear, wondering why this incident had evoked such a reaction from Andromeda. "I… I was going to. I just… you've done so much for me already and… Narcissa was there so I…"

Andromeda's voice softened, her fingers unclenching from where they'd held Hermione's in an almost painful grasp. "Hermione, _Hermione._ When will you learn? I'm here for you, for anything."

"I know! I do. You've been nothing but good to me. I just…" Hermione paused, unsure whether to continue. "I know it; I just don't understand it… I can't understand it." She let her voice die off before gathering it up again. "I can't make sense of you," she spoke, just above a whisper. Andromeda was watching her, Hermione could feel it, but she did not raise her eyes above their joined hands. "I don't mean that in a bad way, of course, but you… You're not exactly the sort I'd expect to take in strays like this."

"You're not a stray, Hermione—"

"Then what am I! Why am I here?" Hermione knew her voice was raised almost dangerously, feelings of confusion and displacement having risen over this past week, despite the relatively warm welcome she had received. Her tone was bordering on a sort of hysteria she thought she could contain. She couldn't. She looked up into the older witch's eyes. "If I'm not a stray, if I'm not some sort of project, what else could I possibly be? I'm more than a cook but less than a servant; I'm doing less than you said I would and more all the same but – Mmph!"

There were lips on hers. Warm, soft, unexpected lips, cutting off her words as effectively as a muzzle and much more… pleasantly. There were hands cupping her cheeks. Warm, gentle, familiar hands, holding her there with the faintest pressure. Not that Hermione would have pulled away. Oh, no. Her eyes fluttered shut, her pulse threatened to beat its way out of her throat, and there was room for only a single thought in her mind. Andromeda was kissing her.

The kiss was chaste but lingering, leaving no room to doubt that it was very much intentional. It was Andromeda who drew back, creating a heartbeat's space between their lips and charged silence between their eyes. The elder witch gave a nervous sort of smile, one that tugged at something in the pit of Hermione's stomach.

Here she sat, having just been kissed by a woman who was not only her employer, but her teacher, and she knew there should be something wrong with that, knew that there should be a million questions ringing in the air, but all she could think was, _Oh. That was… lovely. _

It wasn't the first time she had been kissed. There was a boy who worked in the tavern across the street who had stolen more than one passing brush of lips from her. He would have gone further, too, but Hermione had never felt a thing for him, and she made no secret of that when he tried to grope her in the storeroom. There had also been the boy two years ago… when her father had taken her to Hogsmeade for a day near the solstice and they'd run into a mess of Hogwarts students on weekend… A freckled, ginger-haired boy had caught her under the mistletoe. He'd seemed more nervous than she was, but enchanted mistletoe was enchanted mistletoe, and he'd managed a blushing kiss before scurrying off after a dark haired boy with round spectacles.

So, no, this was not the first time she had been kissed, but by Merlin this was the first time she had _felt_ anything. Her lips were still tingling.

"I suppose I shouldn't have done that," Andromeda breathed, nearly kissing Hermione again just with the motion of her words. "After all, we've barely known each other a week."

Of all the things that could have bothered Hermione about the kiss, that was the least of them. In spite of everything—

"—I feel I've known you much longer, though," Andromeda murmured, echoing Hermione's thoughts. "There is a sort of… intimacy that grows from circumstances as strange as ours."

Hermione drew in a shuddering breath. Andromeda was still too close, the look in her eyes too weighty, too distracting; Hermione had no idea what part she was even supposed to play in this exchange.

Finally, the older woman drew back, settling against the headboard of her bed… reminding Hermione of exactly where they were.

"Why…?" Hermione started, but realized there were simply too many ways to end that particular question.

Andromeda picked one. "Why did I kiss you?" She sighed. "Many reasons. Mostly, of course, because I haven't been able to stop thinking about it all week."

Hermione felt a rush of warmth at her words, starting somewhere in her chest and spreading out in all directions.

"And here you were, looking so confused, so unsure, I wanted to make you see that I… Of course, I wasn't actually going to do it, Hermione. I'm hardly a hedonist… I didn't invite you into my home because… well… Perhaps we should start again."

Hermione remained silent throughout this disjointed monologue, unsure what to say because she hadn't any idea what the other woman was thinking. Hell, she wasn't sure what she was thinking herself.

"I can hardly un-kiss you, and I'm sure I don't want to." She quirked an eyebrow. "In fact, I'd quite like to do it again, if you'd allow. Let me take you back to that little café, Hermione. Where we ate that first afternoon." Andromeda's voice, so scattered, now filled with growing excitement. "We can have lunch again, only without the talk of jobs, of my sisters, of political nightmares; just us…"

Hermione finally piped up. "Are… are you asking me on a date, Andromeda?"

At Hermione's tone, Andromeda's lips quirked up. "Hmmm. Yes, I suppose I am."

Hermione knew, oh, she knew, that there was so much wrong with this idea – that this was one of those moments when the best response was to graciously decline and then poof away, disappear, run home – but the only response that seemed even possible after she had shared those lips was, "Alright."

"Brilliant," Andromeda said with that wicked, wicked grin.

It made Hermione wanted to kiss her.

Instead, they returned to the matter at hand; the proverbial elephant in the room, in this case, manifested as an owl in, well, the other room.

Andromeda spotted it right away. It had migrated to the windowsill and was pacing restlessly, clearly looking to hunt some small, defenseless field mouse. Hermione, not feeling particularly gracious towards the nippy little beast, thought it served the bird right to have a few minutes cooped up.

"Eurasian Eagle-Owl," Andromeda announced, very matter-of-fact. "One of Bella's favorite breeds; I suppose you should be flattered." She approached the owl and extended a hand.

"Careful," Hermione called out. "He bites."

Andromeda chuckled. "I'd expect no less." Before the bird could indulge its finger-nibbling habit, Andromeda had snapped her forefinger and thumb closed around the owl's beak and gave it a gentle side-to-side shake. When she released him, the bird yawned innocently, as though biting had never crossed his mind. "Growing up with Bellatrix, you learn quickly to get the upper hand on her creatures… or lose some fingers." She crossed back to where Hermione stood. "He's healthy… If you feed him and let him fly, he'll make an excellent mail carrier for you."

"You mean I can keep him?" The prospect both attracted and alarmed her. After all, while Muggle children grew up wishing for ponies, every wizarding child waited with baited breath for their first owl. Hermione used to save up Knuts in a pickle jar on her windowsill, until her parents had given her the reality check that feeding the bird would cost more in just a few months than the bird itself. So, yes, she would love an owl, but this one? She absentmindedly ran her thumb along the still-stinging bite mark. This one… _He bites like the bastard he is._ Or perhaps, Hermione could not help but muse, he bites like the witch that raised him. Did she really want a bird from Bellatrix Lestrange?

Andromeda, however, was nodding. "I can't see any reason why not, though I would keep an eye on him. My sister…" she trailed off. "My sister likes to play games."

Hermione needled the bite again. "I've noticed."

Andromeda caught sight of the motion. "He bit you? Of course he did."

"It's alright, really, just a scratch—"

Hermione wondered why she even bothered. Andromeda was already at her side, pinpointing the little v-shaped cut with the expert eye of a healer. Hermione was unused to this sort of care. Neither of her parents had any healing skills, nor the money to pay. Aside from one memorable broken arm and a dreadful case of Dragon Pox, Hermione healed with Band-Aids and water, not magic. Still, that soothing warmth, those sure fingers… Hermione could get spoiled by this sort of thing.

Rather than pressing a kiss to her now-healed injury, Andromeda kept hold of her hand and used it to pull Hermione into another stolen brush of lips; still gentle, but this time, Hermione was less petrified. She cautiously leaned in, gasping when she felt a passing tongue trace along her upper lip. She pulled back, blushing. "I didn't get bitten there," she remarked, smiling.

Andromeda laughed outright, leaning in again, tilting up Hermione's chin and capturing her lips more firmly. Hermione felt this kiss in the pit of her stomach, warming her from the inside out, insisting she close the distance between them. Just as her hands found a home in the older witch's hair, Andromeda nipped playfully at her bottom lip. "Now you did," Andromeda teased, drawing a small mewl from Hermione the younger woman hadn't even known she was capable of. "Can I kiss it better?" Warmth turned into heat, and it was a very flushed Hermione who pulled away this time.

"We shouldn't," she managed, finally trying to reorder her spinning world.

"Oh?" Andromeda asked innocently.

Hermione pulled away and turned her back to the older witch, though it took an embarrassing amount of will. "This is… off. I can't… we shouldn't…"

"Oh, but we should," Andromeda murmured, stepping up behind Hermione and wrapping her arms around the younger woman's waist. "I won't rush you, but I'm not blind."

Hermione shuddered. Andromeda's breath was ghosting against the shell of her ear playing distractingly along the column of her neck. "I… I'm not even sure what this is," she whispered. "I work for you, Andromeda," she managed. "I—"

"Technically, you work for Cissa. It's her money that signs your paycheck."

"Wha—"

"But even if you did work for me, I'd say the same thing – no person has just one side, and neither does any relationship." She stepped back, allowing a small distance between them. Hermione turned to face her again. "There isn't any reason I can't teach you magic one morning and take you out to lunch that afternoon."

Hermione could feel her protests slipping, though she knew somewhere there was still a line she shouldn't be crossing, somewhere between cooking someone three meals a day and kissing them at three in the morning.

"If you really don't want me, Hermione; if you really find this so wrong, we can go back to the way things were… I'm no monster. I'd never take advantage of you." She brushed a stray curl off of the younger witch's forehead. "But I think you want this, too."

Hermione could barely seem to draw an even breath, let alone figure out how to answer that, but Andromeda didn't give her the chance.

"Either way, you promised me lunch. Let me have that much, and I'll let you have whatever time you need." She gave a quick whistle, prompting the owl to land on her outstretched arm. Hermione winced at the look of those sharp, deadly talons against that pristine skin. "I'll keep the bird with mine until morning; take whatever sleep you can, Hermione. Sweet dreams."

With that, she was gone.

Sleep did not come easily to Hermione. She curled back under the covers but found they offered only an empty warmth after the strange safety she felt in Andromeda's arms. _Andromeda._ Hermione liked to think she wasn't naïve. She knew there were women in this world who liked other women, and it wasn't nearly the taboo amongst wizards that it was Muggle-side. She had even recognized the attraction between them, though she had firmly believed that it was only a sort of wishful thinking on her part.

The question wasn't whether she wanted Andromeda. Oh, no, the kiss had more than proven that. The question lay in all the other things. Hermione would love to believe that they could have three completely separate sorts of relationships; that her employment and her education wouldn't change in the face of a few kisses or… anything more. But she couldn't afford to believe that. Even in her lessons, there had been that possessiveness to her words, that entitlement in the way Andromeda so often touched her.

_But… I didn't mind._ Hermione felt the thought surface unbidden, but she couldn't deny it. Part of her simply thrived in feeling that wanted, especially now that she knew it went further. There was a thrill to that piece of Andromeda, that darker edge that she clearly drew from her pureblood, Slytherin roots. Tempered by her genuine kindness… well… it was a heady mixture.

Hermione rolled over, unable to get comfortable.

She knew how to be smart about this. In fact, there were even quite a few ways to be smart about this. But, for once, she just wanted to be stupid.

Hermione laughed aloud into the darkened room, remembering the first night she had lain in this bed. She had been thinking that, as long as Andromeda wanted her, she could let herself stay, keep this job, but only if she managed to keep her guard up. _I give myself good advice_. She sighed, turning once again. _Shame that I'm so awful at taking it. _Then again, perhaps she could still take it. Maybe she _could_ let herself have this, or, at least, _try_ this.

Hermione was no coward. Andromeda was an enigma, a spatter of color in a world colored greyscale, and in her impossibility to define, she was intimidating, challenging. But Hermione had never been one to back down from a challenge. If she pushed aside the niggling self-doubt and the sheer impossibility of all of this, she knew she craved everything Andromeda had offered her so far, from the stability of the job, to the excitement of the magic, and now to the magic of those kisses.

And yet, the longer Andromeda had been gone from the room, the more Hermione could focus her thoughts. Had Andromeda's lips really been so alluring, so sweet, so exciting? She had left too abruptly for Hermione to think! Had all the maddening emotions she had felt this night – morning – been nothing more than lingering adrenaline from waking up in the darkness in fear for her life?

She could convince herself of it, Hermione was sure. She had to. If she let this, whatever _this _was, go any further, she could lose everything they'd built; the fragile trust, the sense of safety, the burgeoning friendship… shouldn't that be more than enough? More than she should risk losing by pursuing some fools' game of intimacy?

After all, didn't she owe herself at least that much? Wasn't the safety she felt whenever Andromeda entered a room worth at least one small piece of trust? Trust that Andromeda could be true to her word, and let everything go back to normal, or, near enough that they could pretend Hermione had never known just how tender Andromeda's kiss could be?

_Yes. She thinks I owe her lunch, but I owe her trust much more than that. I can't give up this life for any fleeting moment of her fancy, or my own. _Finally, she drifted off, the last thoughts lingering in her mind a mix of, _you're a fool, Hermione Granger,_ and _then what in Merlin's name does that make Andromeda?_

* * *

><p>The next morning marked a change in the household. She woke to sounds from down the hallway, Narcissa's voice raised in clear annoyance. "Where is my cloak, Lucius? Where is it?"<p>

A pause, Lucius's voice too low to hear.

"You think if I can't find it I won't go?" Biting laughter sounded. "I'm not going to argue. It's none of my concern that you've clearly stopped caring about your own… Dammit, Lucius! _Accio Cloak!"_

Hermione peeped cautiously out into the hallway. The argument was coming from the open door to the Malfoys' chambers. She could now hear Lucius as well.

"He doesn't want to see you, Narcissa. Can't you just let it be?"

Narcissa strode from the room dressed in a heavy traveling cloak, prompting Hermione to quickly retract her head and press flat against the wall.

"Narcissa!" Hermione could hear Lucius's heavy steps chasing after her. "Stop this madness!"

Narcissa halted just past Hermione's door. She hissed, "Madness? What do you know of madness, Lucius?"

While her voice had been soft but biting, Lucius's was unflatteringly loud and shrill. "I've been surrounded by it since we left our home, Narcissa!"

"Our home? _Our _home?" Narcissa laughed, a fake, cold laugh that sent chills racing along Hermione's spine. "You forget yourself, Lucius. As many nightmares as this place holds for me, it is still much more of a home than the Malfoy estate could ever be. This is where my family has always—"

"—I am your family! I am your husband!"

"Oh, you are my husband, Lucius. I can hardly forget that." Narcissa's voice was so empty, so haunted; Hermione could almost feel the anguish, the rage, fighting beneath that sheet of impenetrable ice. "But you chose the Dark Lord over our son, and you will never, _never_ be my family."

With that, she was gone, a barely audible _pop_ of displaced air to accompany her. Lucius cursed and stomped back to his room, slamming the door behind him. Hermione guardedly peered around the door frame and found herself meeting Andromeda's gaze at the other end of the hall. With a squeak, she pulled back, then thought better of it and walked out into the corridor. "I… I couldn't help but overhear…"

Andromeda gave a slight smile, clearly letting Hermione know her eavesdropping was not an issue. She was already dressed; casual clothing Mugglesque in style for what would most likely be a day in the office. "Cissa just got word that her son is staying somewhere in London until the trial."

"Trial?" Hermione asked, stalling for time, trying not to think of how she had to turn down Andromeda's offer from the night… as soon as an opportunity arose.

Andromeda nodded. "Even this far along, they're still catching the occasional Death Eater. Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco often have to testify. It's the only thing that can draw Draco out of France. Last time he was here, Narcissa spent an entire week tracking him down just to exchange a few terse words. I doubt she'll settle for any less this time."

"Oh."

Andromeda gave a wry smile. "Yes, 'oh' about sums it up."

"He… Her son doesn't want to see her, then?"

Andromeda sighed. "Let's talk over breakfast."

In the kitchen, Andromeda fed herself while Hermione worked out meals for Bellatrix and Lucius. As she cooked, Andromeda explained.

"See, Draco's had a rough few years. He was always trying to prove himself to his father, as boys so often do. When Narcissa went against Voldemort—" Hermione tried not to flinch at the name. "—at the end of the war, Draco saw it as a betrayal and, perhaps even worse, as an embarrassment. Cissa had tried to protect him, but for Draco… it felt like she was trying to make him seem weak."

"She betrayed _You-Know-Who_?" Hermione asked, slightly awed. "And she _lived?"_

Andromeda nodded. "Not just once, but twice. But that is not my story to tell. In the end, it amounted to a small piece in ending the war and a large piece in losing her son."

"That's… dreadful."

"She keeps trying to reconcile, just to talk, but she can't follow him to France. Just as Sweden, Finland, and Belgium, France has denied any wizarding travel by those convicted of Death Eater activity."

"But… I thought…"

"She _was_ convicted, Hermione. She was pardoned, yes, but the conviction still stands."

"Then, how can her son…"

"Draco never stood trial. It was decided that any still enrolled in Hogwarts were to be treated as underage wizards and not convicted for the crimes of their parents. An idiotic ruling, if you ask me; but no one did, and our dear Ministry wanted to save face somehow. Children are useful, in that way."

Hermione was silent, trying to make sense of a world where a son was so angry at his mother for saving his ass that he would run off to France in what, to Hermione, sounded like the biggest temper-tantrum in teenaged-man-child history.

"So… she's gone to try to talk to him while he's here, then?"

"Yes. Oh, she'll find him, I'm sure, but I doubt the end result will be any prettier than it was last time. He doesn't want to talk and that's that."

Hermione finished up her own meal in silence. Things moved so quickly in this house. If she didn't keep up, she was sure to be run over.

"Ah, hell," Andromeda suddenly muttered, nearly dropping her little silver teaspoon into an empty cup.

"What?" Hermione asked, worriedly.

"With Cissa gone, I'm in charge of Lucius, which means I can't leave him here unattended, and, if Narcissa isn't back by Thursday, I'll have to escort him to the trial."

"Oh?" Hermione thought that sounded regrettable, just as was the entire situation Andromeda had been cornered into by her family, but why it would garner such a reaction now was beyond her. "I'm sorry?"

Andromeda sighed. "I'm afraid we'll just have to push back our little lunch, Hermione."

_"Oh."_ Unbidden, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at last night's memory.

"I somehow doubt that having Lucius sitting across the table would make for a very… friendly atmosphere," Andromeda added, gathering Hermione's hands with an apologetic smile.

Hermione's smile faltered. She gathered her nerve and her willpower, both in scares supply when Andromeda was sitting across from her, that patrician beauty looking almost fragile in the early light. "Andromeda I… Last night…"

Andromeda said flatly, "Don't."

Hermione blinked. Andromeda was right – she had been planning something along the lines of _Last night really shouldn't happen again._ Was she really that predictable?

Evidently so. "I'm sure you've thought of every reason not to continue this, but I'm also sure you'll keep thinking yourself in circles, and if you speak now, you're bound to regret whichever sort of response you've landed on. I want time to convince you that I'm sincere, Hermione, but I'd like to do it away from here, for the time being." She paused, clearly lost in thought. "Perhaps… perhaps we ought to keep things as they were, for now. Only until Narcissa returns and I get a few moments of my scant personal time back." Andromeda rose, clearing dishes, as though she hadn't just ripped all sorts of metaphorical rugs out from underneath Hermione's feet.

"As they were?" Hermione mused, incredulous. She stood on faintly trembling legs to join Andromeda by the sink, passing off her own plate into the rinsing cycle Andromeda had conjured up. With a wave of her wand, Hermione took over the chore. As often as Andromeda did her own cleaning, Hermione still felt strange allowing it.

"Just for these few days. I meant what I said, Hermione. I won't let the things we already have get confused with what we… may have soon. If I'm to keep from doing anything… regrettable—" Andromeda, having brought over the last of the glasses, startled Hermione by pressing a quick kiss to the back of her neck, just at the top of her spine. "—then we need our first... date to be very, very far away from the particular… temptations… this home holds."

Hermione shivered, her body deciding to rearrange its warmth into a flush at her cheeks and a heat in the pit of stomach. Andromeda had settled her fingers at the small of Hermione's back in a gesture that was beginning to feel more natural than the emptiness when she pulled away.

For the life of her, Hermione could not find one of her carefully constructed denials in her mind. The best she could manage was, "I'm not sure I'll live out the week if this is your idea of resisting temptations." Hermione bit her tongue, a bit startled by her own audacity.

Andromeda lit up the room with a bright, full laugh. "Oh, very well. I might be persuaded to go easy on you until our little lunch."

* * *

><p>Hermione soon learned that she and Andromeda had very differing ideas of "going easy." Though their lessons continued as usual, so did the lingering touches, the charged looks, the shameless-yet-subtle flirting which, now that Hermione could recognize it for what it was, kept her in a permanent state of both embarrassment… and longing. With each day, Hermione noticed more and more about the older witch, little details that hardly mattered, yet which held a sudden fascination for her. The way she always flicked her wand in a tiny circle before casting a spell, or how daylight brought out shades of red-auburn in her hair that were hidden by torchlight, or the way her dark, expressive eyes were never quite the same shade of brown or black from moment to moment.<p>

The mornings were like a waking dream, moments of mirage-like normalcy to hide the tension that had sprung up between the two witches, a tension sure to drive Hermione mad if Narcissa didn't return soon.

* * *

><p>With Narcissa gone for the week, the Library felt lonely. Though she still spent an hour or so cleaning each afternoon, Hermione found that she could not sit alone and read, missing the presence of someone to discuss with. Andromeda was still often busy in the afternoons, and just the morning was near enough to drive her mad. If she wandered too long in the house, she was sure to run into Lucius, and she felt no need to hear his scathing comments or see his scornful sneer any more than was absolutely necessary.<p>

Instead, she began spending more and more time in the gardens and lawns, exploring a landscape that seemed to have sprouted from some gardener's nightmare, or from some wilderness creature's fantasy. There was beauty in the untamed vastness of these grounds, wild, untouched beauty that Hermione had hardly seen, living where cobblestones were more common than grass. There were places which the forest had entirely reclaimed, youthful trees popping roots like knobby knees through grass long gone to seed, artfully carved stones overturned and drowning in lichen and ferns. The magic of those places lay in the paths Hermione walked; gleaming, pearly stone clearly enchanted to resist nature's advance. In places, shrubs grew on both sides, forming a natural arch overhead which a gardener might spend years trying to cultivate.

The path led to other places somewhat lacking in the romance of wilderness. There was a vegetable garden in the back of the house where scraggly tomatoes fought for space amongst a solid blanket of half-rotting cabbages, and a single bean plant hung limply from its tilting pole. Further along, rows of fruit-trees struggled for ground amid hundreds of their own saplings, sprouted when no birds came to scatter the seeds from fruit unpicked.

Hermione wondered again at the lack of animals. There were small insects here and there, a butterfly gathering nectar, a spider web still hung with dew, but nothing larger than that; no birds in the trees, no toads in the decaying leaves, no squirrels scurrying to gather nuts before winter, no fish in the lily-strangled pond. It was eerie – no, it was sad. Something had happened here, something had scarred the land beyond nature's ability to heal. Hermione could feel it, a lingering darkness, watching her, like eyes on the back of her head.

Staring back up towards the house, Hermione caught a glimpse of a curtain wavering in a third-floor window. She stared for a moment. Was it the first sign of life from that illusively empty floor, or merely a taunting breeze?

She turned back to the trees. The library was her project, but it felt off, now, as though Lady Malfoy's absence made her time there into a sort of trespassing. The gardens, though… She'd never been much of one for plants, not really, but she was here, and no one else seemed to give a damn, so she'd better do something, hadn't she?

The strange darkness that inhabited the land was stronger near the little shack that had housed the gardener, so Hermione scurried as quickly in and out of the dusty tool shed as she could, gathering a large shovel, a small trowel, pruners, and some ancient gardening gloves.

On Tuesday and Wednesday, she started on the vegetable garden. Practicing her unbound magic in the process, she charmed the shovel to heave-ho the mass of cabbages as she attempted to feed some life into the tomatoes. She watched the little bean plant, knowing she should toss it, but feeling strangely attached to the single, pitiful survivor. She let it be, clearing the soil around it to give it a fighting chance.

She could have done nearly all of it by magic, but it somehow felt like cheating, when all the magic of the estate had been unable to contain this much nature, to just push it away with the wave of a wand. Besides, there was no hurry – she had no realistic goal in working here, just a way to pass time. Andromeda spotted her returning to the Manor Wednesday evening and looked stunned for a moment, as though seeing a ghost. She recovered quickly, though, and was very amused by her dirt-stained elbows and the dry autumn leaves crinkling in the folds of her robe sleeves, scrunched up about her upper arms.

That same evening, she finally braved the room where Andromeda had put Bellatrix's – Hermione's – owl. She was wary of it, but thought it beyond time to send her mum that letter. It all went well up until the moment when she tucked her wand under her arm in order to tie the letter shut. With a happy coo, the blasted owl snatched up Hermione's wand in its deathtrap of a beak and proceeded to, quite casually, snap the piece of wood in two.

"No! Oh, bad bird!" Hermione cried, snatching the two pieces of twig from either side of his owlish grin. Still, he flew off in a most professional manner, letter secure, so Hermione thought that _maybe_ she'd let him back in again. With a sigh, she gently aligned the splintered ends of the wand, the ever futile reflex to make it _look_ right, even though real repair was more than likely hopeless.

She told Andromeda about it over dinner, and Andromeda claimed the broken pieces from her. "I'll stop by a wand shop after the trial," she insisted. "As long as I have a wand you've been using for more than a year or so, it will do to pick out a new one – you won't need to be there."

Part of Hermione was going a bit stir-crazy; having never gone more than a mile or so outside the Manor itself since her arrival, she wouldn't have minded a morning at the shops, but she somehow doubted that a day-trip with Lucius would improve her mood any. Instead, she merely said, "Thank you."

Hermione lay awake again that night, wondering what sort of day would dawn tomorrow, a dawn that would leave her one of only two human souls in the Manor. The silence above her head each night was starting to frighten her. There was something wrong about that sort of silence, a silence in a house where even whispers echoed. The unnatural stillness itself told Hermione something about the third sister in a way that little note had not; it seemed Bellatrix was trying to hide herself behind a silence of fogged glass, a quiet so impossible that it did little by way of disguise. Just as shadows move behind even the dullest of glass windows, so Bellatrix's presence ghosted in the rooms above her head. Hermione hadn't the slightest idea what was happening up there, but through the concealment, she could tell it surely must be something big.

* * *

><p><strong>AN for the chapter: **First, a shout-out to my most loyal and thorough reviewer, ScOut4It, for being a wonderful motivator and a frighteningly good foreteller; have you been reading _my _mind, dear?

Second, I apologize for another Andy-central chapter: I had a lovely bit of Bellatrix written, but didn't realize how many gaps I would have to fill before I could post it. This was already lengthy, so, *insert Unbreakable Vow here*, you'll find Bella in the next bit.

Finally, I had a touch of miraculous free time this past month, hence, all the _whoa, updates! _moments. However, I'm about to be swamped again, so… well… don't hate on me _too_ much, eh?

Your most humble servant,

-Zarrene.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Andromeda, Hermione/Narcissa.

* * *

><p>Thursday morning dawned to sheeting rain and bitter cold. The old house became impregnated with the weather, walls swollen and damp, floorboards biting at Hermione's toes with the nippy chill. On her way to cook something nice and warm for herself and Bellatrix, she spotted Andromeda and Lucius heading for the stairs, the witch's hand clasped firmly about his elbow, leading him. He tried to shake her off. "I'm not a child," he hissed.<p>

"Then stop acting like one," she snapped, and they were gone.

The house was eerie, like this. Her footfalls echoed, dying out so slowly that Hermione could never actually tell when she stopped hearing them. Just as the library felt so strange without Narcissa, so the house felt… darker… without Andromeda. The rain did little to help, pattering mind-numbingly against the glass, blanketing the rooms in a sense of isolation.

After breakfast, she drifted listlessly, feeling an all-encompassing uselessness settle over her. Noticing her thoughts adjusting towards the mood the dreary weather had created, she was pleasantly surprised to hear a loud tapping at the nearest window.

There was her bird, feathers plastered to the bone by the rain, jabbing impatiently at the window to get her attention. She hurried over, scrambling to find the latch and allow the five-odd feet of miserable feathers to flap resentfully into the hall. The owl was too tired to be mischievous, allowing Hermione to remove the parchment he carried before flapping up to a beam overhead and tucking in for an owlish nap. The scroll he clutched was waterlogged, but the writing had been mostly protected from the damp.

Her mother wrote that she was well, relieved that Hermione was settling in nicely at her new job, and extremely grateful for the sizable sum of money she had received. Hermione wondered vaguely exactly how much Andromeda – or, Narcissa, or whichever bloody witch it was – was paying her, but decided not to ask; if it seemed too much, she would have a hard time accepting it, but her mother sounded so thrilled so… best to leave things be.

Setting down the letter, a scrap of paper drifted off of the back, where it had been stuck to the dampened parchment. She felt an odd thrill, almost a shock, race up her fingers as she lifted it from the floor. This paper was entirely too dry to be possible, so it was with some trepidation that Hermione unfolded it along the single crease.

_Visit me._

That was all. Two words. Yet Hermione knew exactly what was meant by them, exactly who had sent them, and exactly why now of all times.

Bellatrix.

She stood there for some immeasurable span of time, clutching the scrap in lightly trembling fingers. She wasn't thick. She knew better than to actually pay such a command any heed, especially after all Andromeda had said, and yet…

Hermione couldn't put the note down. She couldn't so much as focus on anything else. Every time she took a few steps in any one direction, she found herself opening it again, reading it over. The words seemed to engrave themselves onto her mind, paths of nerves blackened with the ink of that child-like scrawl. _Visit me._

Hermione could tell something was wrong. It shouldn't seem so inescapable to her, but no matter how many times she started out for the kitchen, the library, her chambers, her feet led her time and time again to the base of one staircase or another. _Visit me. _

The words were like a leash of spider-silk, drawing her imperceptibly towards the third floor, so gently she did not notice her own missteps until the moment when her toes bumped the bottommost stair. She could turn back, head off down another corridor, but it would be only a matter of minutes before she would find herself peering once more up along a flight of steps into the shadowy recesses of the third floor landings.

Finally, Hermione decided enough was enough. Bellatrix wanted her to 'visit'? She'd bloody well visit. She'd visit and demand an explanation for these cryptic notes, the secrecy spell, the strange, compulsory demand to visit her… _Compulsory_, Hermione realized with a spark of intuition. _Compulsion…_ By then, however, it was far too late. Her feet had strayed along with her mind, and she was already halfway up the stairs.

She stood on the last step for quite some time. She could feel whatever Bellatrix had done to that note tugging at her, but was unwilling to make the final motion, unwilling to commit herself fully to this clearly counterproductive path. Still, she couldn't very well stand here all day, and she could admit a twisted sort of curiosity had already been tempting her, so she summoned her courage, dismissed her common sense, and allowed herself that last footfall.

The moment her foot struck the landing, she felt that all-pressing need dissipate, gone as suddenly as it had come, and she knew she stood there completely of her own volition. She half expected a figure to jump from the shadows, perhaps with a sharp, "Boo!" or, then again, perhaps with a flash of green light which would mark the end of her life. But there she stood. She could turn about, walk down the stairs, and pretend this little transgression had never occurred. And yet… here she was, having already committed half of the crime, and, practicality be damned, she wasn't about to leave without reaping at least part of that reward.

_Just a glance, _she thought, peering down the darkened hallway.

The next footfall was her own, a stride taken entirely by her own will. She could not dismiss her curiosity lightly, and those twisted little thoughts which had become so utterly fascinated with this haunting non-persona drew her forward, onward.

The hall in which she stood was noteworthy only in the way it perfectly mirrored those below. The same sort of gaudy-framed family portraits and age-worn tapestries marked the only splashes of color on the bare stone walls, and a large swathe of carpeting covered only the very center of the chilly corridor floorboards. Her bare feet fell lightly as she walked cautiously forward, peering from side to side at the closed doors lining this wing.

There was dust, here, but not the decades-worth that had accumulated in the library. Just enough to note that the house elves had not touched these halls in the time since Bellatrix had arrived.

Halfway down that first passage, she was confronted with a choice. The hall branched, here, offering her a path to her right which would lead deeper into the center of the house, or the path along which she already walked, leading her to the stairway at the far end, a perfect mirror of the one from which she had arrived. She sensed continuing forward would end this little adventure soonest.

She turned instead.

This hallway was different. The portraits here were only empty frames and canvass, the occupants having fled whatever curse had left blackened streaks of charred stone along the walls and melted the gold filigree that had been their protection. The floor was intact, but the carpet was ripped to shreds. There were no windows, either, as this hallway bordered no outer walls.

Hermione swallowed audibly, reaching reflexively for a wand she no longer possessed. Just as she was going to turn back, the door to her left swung wide by some unseen hand, spilling firelight out to where she stood with an ominous creek.

There was a figure leaning against a wall by the open fireplace, dark, heavy curls silhouetted against the dancing flame. She faced the fire, seemingly unaware of Hermione's presence, though the opened doorway suggested otherwise. Hermione held her breath, watching as the witch drew a line of flame from the fire with the tip of a crooked wand, letting the fire dance between shadowy fingers for a moment before falling back behind the metal grating.

Without a conscious decision to do so, Hermione stepped closer. She had barely taken a step across the threshold when her feet flew out from under her and she found herself slamming jarringly into the far wall, far too close to the eldest Black sister. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you to knock?" Bellatrix said without turning from the flames, voice lilting, mockingly pleasant.

"Wha-" Hermione spluttered, unable to move anything save her face, spitting hair from her mouth. "Let me go!" she managed, voice quavering too much for her liking. She felt true panic in that moment, not a calculated, human fear, but the incontrollable, inescapable fear of a hunted animal, cornered, trapped, and about to be eaten alive.

Bellatrix laughed; a raucous, wild sound. "Oh, the little Mudblood pet's scared, is she?" She turned and stepped closer, bringing herself into Hermione's line of sight. She looked absolutely gleeful, a grin as true as it was mad stretching across her lips. "The little Mudblood thought she'd just step in and say, 'hello,' nice as she bloody well pleased?" The final, hissing words were punctuated by the feeling of a wandtip tracing the outline of Hermione's lips before slipping down her exposed throat and settling against her fluttering pulse-point.

"Well, I'll give my darling sister this much – she has picked a tasty little morsel."

Bellatrix's face was only inches from Hermione's, breathing the same air. Hermione was frozen more fully by her fear than by the spell, her lips trembling too much to even attempt to speak. She clamped her eyes shut when the wand was raised once more to jab against her cheek, nearly hyperventilating.

"But my sister is making a mistake, and I simply can't allow that, now can I, my pretty little Mudblood?"

Hermione felt a whimper slip past her lips, uncomprehending. This was just what Andromeda had warned her of, after all. She'd been drawn up these stairs with words which – though admittedly strange, taunting – had seemed no less sane than any she herself could have written, yet she had found herself in the lair of a madwoman.

"CAN I?" Bellatrix repeated, louder, slipping a hand into Hermione's hair and yanking the younger woman's head back, fighting against the magnetism of her own spell.

Hermione felt sounds clawing their way up her throat, but they were not words, and she knew, if she let one out, she would lose all of them in a rush of fear. Not to mention, she had no idea what Bellatrix was asking her. Swallowing down what panic she could, she gasped out, "What do you want from me?" Her words were shrill with fear, and she could hear the approaching tears in her voice.

Bellatrix's grip tightened, pulling painfully at the roots of her hair, making the first of Hermione's tears those of pain rather than fear. "Oh, I don't want anything from you. I want you_ gone._ My sister can deal with me for the rest of my life, for all I care; I won't degrade myself to so much as _use_ you, Mudblood."

Hermione whimpered.

Bellatrix's wand abandoned its home at the nape of Hermione's neck to accompany a muffled spell from the dark witch's lips. Hermione shut her eyes as she saw ropes beginning to wind their way up her legs, feeling them crawl across her torso and bind her arms together behind her back, setting her off-balance. She fell to the floor, feeling something crack in her elbow and letting out a cry of pain just in time for a rope to slash its way between her teeth, effectively gagging her.

Bellatrix was laughing. "Ah, I do like Mudbloods better when they're all nicely wrapped up for me, like a dirty little Christmas present." She punctuated her words by crouching over her and giving a quick, harsh slap to Hermione's cheek. The elder witch's hand followed the blow, however, lingering against the smarting skin in a dreadful parody of a caress. "Almost a shame I'm going to have to kill you."

Stepping back in a half-skipping motion, she waved her wand with exaggerated flourish, grinning widely as the ropes jerked Hermione upright once more. Feeling the movement jar her elbow, Hermione let out a muffled cry of pain through the rope in her mouth. Eyes gleaming madly, laughing, Bellatrix cawed, "Look at the puppet dance!"

The wand's haphazard motion led Hermione on a painful jaunt before halting abruptly, leaving her swaying in the center of the room. She could do little more than squirm and glare through watering eyes, the magical bindings far too secure. She tried to scream, tried to call out, but there was no one there to hear her.

Bellatrix was conjuring another rope, and the sight of it intensified Hermione's struggles. Her chest now shook with the force of her terrified sobs. It was a noose.

"Shame, dearie, that I've got to be so medieval," she taunted, stepping closer and running the deadly coil up along Hermione's cheek. "But the Ministry didn't trust me with any of my favorite spells." She pouted, like a child denied a piece of chocolate.

"Mmmph!" Hermione was screaming through the rope, tears streaming down her cheeks. She called out for Andromeda, for Narcissa, for anyone, anyone, but the rope slipped unarrested down over her head.

Pale, slender fingers traced a taunting line along the skin of her throat, back and forth, back and forth, just beneath the rope. "Nothing personal," Bellatrix murmured, voice suddenly soft.

The other end of the rope flew up to the ceiling, slipping through the ring from which an unlit chandelier was already hanging.

The dark witch drew the coil of rope tighter about her throat with shocking tenderness, gracing the younger woman with an almost apologetic smile.

_Oh, no, please, no._ Hermione thought, giving up on her useless cries, mind running in helpless circles.

Just as Bellatrix waved her wand, drawing the rope taut, the door banged open against the wall in a flash of golden light. "Put her down, Bella."

Narcissa stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed in anger, wand aimed directly at her sister.

Bellatrix merely laughed, a swish of her wand drawing Hermione to her tiptoes, frantically struggling to find purchase for her bound feet against the smooth floorboards.

With a wave of Narcissa's wand, the rope was severed, and Hermione crumpled to a heap crying out as she fell once again on her injured elbow. She saw flashes of light in the room as the two sisters exchanged a quick volley of silent spellwork, but it ended before she could turn her head enough to witness the brief duel.

When she managed to squirm her way other side, she found Bellatrix pinned against the far wall, just where she herself had been only moments before, Narcissa's wand pressing into the hollow of her throat.

"Oh, come now, Cissy. Why must you ruin my fun?" Despite the precarious nature of her situation, Bellatrix's eyes were bright, her chest heaving, grinning.

Narcissa's voice was scornful and bitingly cold. "Because Andromeda does not take as kindly to your games as I do, Bellatrix."

The dark-haired witch pouted. "Cissy—"

"Not another word, Bella. She doesn't belong to either of us."

Hermione supposed she ought to have felt indignant at the way Narcissa addressed her as though she were nothing more than a thing to be owned, but at the moment she could only feel excruciatingly grateful to be alive.

Narcissa silenced her sister with a spell and turned briskly to Hermione, banishing the ropes that still bound her. She gasped in heaving breaths of air, hands flying to her throat despite the agony such a motion triggered in her elbow. She sat up slowly, curling her knees up against her chest and resting her face against them, trembling.

Narcissa knelt beside her, placing a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Can you walk?" she asked frankly, and Hermione was glad for the practical question, as it drew her back into the moment at hand.

She nodded slowly and stood, cradling her injured arm tightly against her stomach. "Thank you," she gasped out. "Thank you."

Narcissa inclined her head, acknowledging her thanks.

Reaching the door before the fairer witch, Hermione turned around, finding her eyes locking into those of the dark woman against the other wall. She was smiling, still, laughter dancing in that hooded stare, though she could make no sound. Her curls fell down across her face, a face Hermione was able to take in for the first time without being in immediate fear of her life. There was something there reminiscent of Andromeda; the pale skin, the dark rings of sleepless nights that had so bruised the space beneath her eyes. Yet where Andromeda's face was softened with kindness, Bellatrix's had been hardened, sharpened, weathered by her own actions and her time in Azkaban. The high cheekbones, trademark to her family, were sharper, here, and her high, aquiline nose almost painfully proud. She had recovered some of her beauty since the pictures Hermione had seen when she first escaped from Azkaban, but it was a sharp, haunted beauty, and all of that inexorable madness remained.

Narcissa was speaking to her sister. "Andromeda can deal with you," she said, turning away and ushering Hermione from the room.

Andromeda met them halfway up the stairs, clearly hurrying towards them. "Oh, thank god," she cried, pulling Hermione into her arms. Hermione couldn't hold in a small yelp of pain, prompting Andromeda to draw back. Her eyes were dark with a sort of rage Hermione had never before seen on this sister. "What did she do to you? Are you hurt?"

Unable to summon words to her mind, Hermione simply nodded.

"Where?" Andromeda prompted sharply.

"My elbow," she managed. Now that the adrenaline had stopped racing through her veins, she was feeling the pain much more sharply. She didn't think she could straighten it if she tried. "I-I think something might be broken."

Andromeda drew in a hissing breath, and her hands were trembling with anger as she laid them on either side of Hermione's injury. Narcissa was silent as Andromeda began a healing spell right there in the middle of the stairway. Hermione could have cried in relief when she felt that beautiful, comforting warmth spreading through her, soothing her frayed nerves as surely as the physical pain. Her eyes fluttered shut and she felt herself swaying backwards as the heat grew, concentrating within her arm and leaving her feeling utterly boneless elsewhere.

Andromeda murmured something to Narcissa, and Hermione felt the younger sister grasp hold of her waist, gently holding her up. The heat was stronger, growing, spreading, seeking out each and every smaller injury as well, rope burns on her wrists, her ankles, her neck, the reddened skin where Bellatrix had slapped her, the skin on her toes which had rubbed raw scrabbling against the floorboards. She felt her knees give out and her head slump backward, but Narcissa kept her from falling. Her eyes fluttered closed.

Slowly, the heat was fading into warmth, as though Andromeda's magic were leaving her with the gentlest of caresses against her very blood and bones. As she recovered, she noticed how much she was leaning on Narcissa and tried to pull away too quickly; finding herself instead slumping forward into Andromeda's waiting arms. The healing had left her feeling almost giddy, and she found herself smiling up at the older witch, raising a hand to her cheek and whispering, "Hello."

Though Andromeda was still clearly upset, she managed an amused smile in return, grasping hold of Hermione's hand and helping her stand.

"Let's get you downstairs," she replied, wrapping an arm around Hermione's waist. "Then, we can talk."

Andromeda's words pierced the gleeful bubble left by the healing spell, suddenly reminding Hermione of exactly what she had done today. She had disobeyed the one and only thing Andromeda had asked of her, and could not even blame it on Bellatrix, at least, not entirely.

The three women descended the stairs in silence, each lost in her own thoughts. At the bottom, Narcissa led them into a sitting room, one of the many scarcely used places tucked behind a featureless door down an unremarkable passageway.

While Hermione and Narcissa seated themselves at opposite ends of a lengthy sofa, Andromeda began to pace. She started to say something two or three times, but cut herself off before even a complete word could fracture the silence. Her every motion spoke of agitation, of lingering anger, and Hermione felt herself curling backwards into the cushions behind her, afraid for the moment when some of that rage would turn to her.

Finally, Andromeda faced her. "What on _earth_ could have possessed you?" she hissed out, clearly trying to keep from snapping entirely.

Hermione drew herself upright, determined to explain at least what part she could. "She sent me another note," she said, forcing herself to meet the fire in the older witch's gaze. "With my owl. Her owl. I think she spelled it."

Just like that, all the fight went out of Andromeda. "Do you still have it?" she asked, settling between her sister and Hermione on the couch.

Hermione fished the now well-worn scrap from the pocket of her robes. Andromeda passed it to Narcissa, who held it for only a moment before setting it on fire with her wand. "Compulsion. Strong. It was still active," she explained.

Andromeda groaned, letting her face fall into her hands. "Damn her. Damn my sister and all of her bloody games. She _knew_ I'd let you keep that bird. Here I've been, trying so hard to keep you away from her, and she knew just how to spirit you off anyway."

Narcissa added, "It was just a compulsion, Andromeda. It would only work if some part of Hermione wanted to go up there in the first place."

At Andromeda's questioning glance, Hermione nodded reluctantly. "I'm sorry, really, I am, but I… I've always been curious. Just… knowing she was up there, never having seen so much as a glimpse of her… I had no idea she would… I couldn't imagine that she'd…"

Andromeda reached over and stroked the back of Hermione's hand. "I'm not going to scold you," she said. "I have a feeling you've more than learned why I wanted to keep you away from her, after all of this."

Hermione nodded, feeling such relief wash over her. She had been most afraid she would have lost Andromeda's trust. Andromeda gave her hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance, and Hermione wished idly that they were alone, that Andromeda could pull her into her arms and make her feel safe, so impossibly safe, in that way only she could.

Narcissa rose from the other end of the couch and took over the pacing from Andromeda. "You can't let her off that easily, 'Dromeda," she said. "I'm not sure she understands how very lucky she was today, how very dangerous Bellatrix can be. If the Ministry hadn't hobbled her like this, if she could still cast Unforgivables… I never could have gotten here in time."

"How did you even know to look for me?" Hermione asked. She didn't mean to sound ungrateful, but as far as she knew, there was no reason for Narcissa to have been anywhere near here when she managed that miraculous rescue.

Narcissa began to worry at the handle of her wand; an odd, agitated motion. "You were screaming for me," she answered.

Hermione's eyes widened.

"Or, rather, for either Andromeda or me, or anyone else who could help," she added. "I – I become very… attuned to the people I spend time around." This was the first time Hermione had heard Narcissa sounding anything less than perfectly put-together.

When her voice trailed off, Andromeda finished the explanation. "Narcissa is a skilled Occlumens and Legilimens. Though she doesn't often practice Legilimency, she can always hear when someone she cares—s" Narcissa was giving her a chilling glare. "—when someone she has spent time around needs her help. I had no idea you would notice at such a distance though, Cissa." Andromeda seemed to almost be… needling at her sister, one eyebrow quirked mockingly.

Narcissa's glare remained firmly fixed, and Hermione wondered if this skill was something she should not have known about. "It is difficult not to hear when a mind is screaming as loudly as Hermione's, today," she hissed out, defensively.

Unsure of the dynamic in the room, Hermione tried to diffuse the odd tension. "I'm very grateful, regardless," she interjected. "I'll try not to bother you with my, ah, thoughts too often."

To her surprise, her weak attempt at a lightened manner drew a fragile laugh from Narcissa. "Don't worry, girl," she replied. "Unless you feel as much terror as you felt today, I doubt I'll hear anything from you. I know better than to listen to the average thought; that would be the perfect way to hate everyone around me and be driven out of my own mind."

Hermione was relieved. Though she knew she would always be grateful for Narcissa's Legilimency saving her life, she was unsure how she could have functioned had the witch been in the habit of prying into people's minds on a daily basis.

Andromeda's thoughts seemed to be elsewhere at the moment, staring off into the distance. Her voice was heavy. "If you hadn't found her… Would I have gotten here in time? What did she do, Cissa? When you sent me that Patronus… _Hermione's in trouble…_" she shuddered. "I Apparated here as quickly as I could, but…" she trailed off again.

Narcissa sighed, face impassive. "I think the two of you should talk."

With that, she made an abrupt departure, leaving Hermione and Andromeda alone in the nameless room.

The two witches sat in silence for a long moment, then, to her own surprise, Hermione started crying. She tried to stop, tried to tell herself it was over, she was alright, but it didn't seem to help. Now that Narcissa was gone, she couldn't seem to summon enough strength to keep her emotions from spilling to the surface.

Andromeda reached over and pulled Hermione into the circle of her arms, which only made her cry harder.

"Shhhh," she murmured, stroking Hermione's hair. "She's not going to hurt you again. I'll never let her hurt you again."

Hermione trembled, tears falling noiselessly down into the collar of Andromeda's robes. Andromeda held her close, one hand wrapping itself in Hermione's hair, giving her an anchor, the other stroking up and down her back, giving her comfort. "I thought I was going to die," she gasped out. Saying it aloud finally let some of the horror dissipate.

Andromeda allowed her to pull back, but when Hermione tried to scoot back to the side, she gently pressed the younger witch's shoulders down, settling her head into her lap and resuming the gentle task of running her fingers through Hermione's hair. Hermione found herself curled up against the back of the sofa and Andromeda's side, and she finally felt safe again.

"Would you tell me what happened?" Andromeda asked. "I'm not going to press you, but, please, I need to know."

Hermione found the words came easily. She left nothing out, not even her admittedly idiotic decision to continue to Bellatrix's chambers, even after the compulsion had ended. Andromeda did not so much as flinch in her soft, even strokes along Hermione's scalp as the young woman spoke, not until Hermione recounted part of what Bellatrix had said to her.

"She said you were making a mistake." Andromeda froze. "She said she couldn't allow it."

Though the reaction was brief, Hermione filed it away in her mind as she continued to recount what had happened. In the end, Andromeda was trembling more than Hermione, with clear anger. "How _dare_ she," she spoke, voice rough with clear restraint. "When I go up there I—"

"—Please," Hermione interjected. "Please, don't do anything you'd regret come morning."

Andromeda did not even seem to hear, so Hermione tried distraction, instead. "What did she mean by your 'mistake'?"

There it was, that freeze, that tensing of reflexive muscles crying out against something the older witch clearly would rather not hear. After a moment, Andromeda offered a stuttering explanation.

"Bella has always known that I have certain… proclivities. Despite the strange dichotomy of our relationship now, she was always my big sister. We… talked, at Hogwarts. While she was seducing every pureblood in the Slytherin commons, I was admitting that I never felt a thing towards boys, pureblood or no. She was always kind to me, when it came to that one matter, even encouraging. But when, in a terribly clichéd moment, my father caught me kissing a close friend, well… Bella couldn't protect me. She would have tried, though. She always wanted to protect me… and I couldn't stand to see her hurt in trying. I suppose you know the rest. I ran off, married a boy I loved as a friend and had a child with him, purposely alienating myself from my family, alienating myself the only way I could from Bellatrix; doing the inconceivable in marrying a Muggle-born."

Hermione's eyes were wide; drinking in all of this sad, haunting past, wondering at the world the sisters had grown up in.

"Now, when I brought you here… Bella must've realized I would be… interested in you. She couldn't care less who I chose to pursue, so long as I never disgraced the family name like that again," she closed cynically. "My sister does not approve of your blood status," she added, voice flat. "And apparently, she would kill you rather than allow me this."

Something was off, Hermione knew. There was something about that that didn't ring true, something much deeper, something more. She knew it was there, hiding in that flinching reaction not entirely explained by such a tale. The calculated manner in which Bellatrix had attempted this spoke of something more than a mere hatred of her blood. Something in the way Bellatrix had insisted that she would not so much as use her. Use her for what? No, Andromeda was not telling her everything.

Andromeda, however, seemed to be in another place entirely. "She nearly took this away from me," she whispered, leaning closer.

Andromeda broke Hermione's concentration with a kiss, drawing her upright and claiming her mouth in a single breath. Her lips were insistent, commanding; demanding Hermione open to her and give in. She did so willingly. If her lips tasted of safety and desire, Andromeda's mouth tasted of passion. She was unapologetically possessive, knotting her fingers in Hermione's curls, telling her with every press of lips, every brush of tongue, every stolen breath that Hermione was hers, and no one, not even Bellatrix, was going to take that from her.

And oh, it was just what Hermione needed to feel, this easy, rich desire. The mindless wanting that the older witch drew from her with those vixen-like teeth nipping at her bottom lip, that soothing tongue that melted her vague, half-formed questions or thoughts of resistance.

Neither woman heard the door open, but the sharply cleared throat startled Hermione into yanking back, glancing around and scrambling to pull herself together.

Narcissa stood in the doorway, expression unreadable.

Hermione started to put space between them, throat suddenly try, hands shaking.

To Hermione's surprise, Andromeda did not seem upset in the slightest. She calmly slid over by Hermione once more, wrapping an almost protective arm about her waist.

"Let me speak to the girl, Andromeda," Narcissa said coldly.

Hermione stifled a whimper. This day had already held more than its fair share of improbable situations, and this was quite possibly one more than Hermione was capable of dealing with.

Andromeda gave her sister a calculating look. "Don't terrorize her, Cissa. She's been through quite enough today."

Without further ado, she stood and departed, leaving a furiously blushing Hermione to cling helplessly to a couch cushion as Narcissa sat in a chair beside her.

"I – This isn't – You don't –" Hermione stammered, then stopped, realizing that, in all honesty, she had absolutely nothing to say for herself. Trying not to tear up, she finally said, "I can pack and be gone in the morning,"

"Oh, no, I'm not here to fire you, girl," Narcissa assured her. "No, I knew from the moment my sister brought you here that she meant to pursue you, even if she hadn't decided it yet herself." She chuckled. "It runs in the family, after all."

Despite the peculiar nature of that cryptic remark, her next words were enough to make Hermione all but put it from her mind.

"No, my sister can do what she would, even with a Mudblood - she's done it before, and I'm not likely to chase her away again over something so comparably... trivial. There isn't a pureblood left alive who can afford to be… picky. However, seeing as I've grown... accustomed to having you around, I'll even admit you've earned my grudging respect... I thought I ought to warn you: my sister is not as... pure in intentions as you might think."

Hermione wanted to protest, to defend Andromeda, but Narcissa had not finished.

"Oh, I do believe she means well enough by you, but keep in mind - all of us who dwell here are in some way ruled by our eldest sister."

"I don't –"

"Ah-ah-ah. You understand perfectly well what Bellatrix is capable of."

Hermione shuddered. That much was true.

"Just... keep that in mind, the next time my sister offers you some place in her life. As surely as Bellatrix is trapped in this home, Andromeda is trapped as well. Bellatrix _owns_ her, darling, owns her mind, life, and soul."

Too engrossed in individual thought, neither woman caught Narcissa's odd little Freudian slip.

* * *

><p>Feeling a soul-deep weariness after the many confrontations of the day and trying not to wonder what sort of discourse was happening upstairs between Bellatrix and Andromeda, Hermione turned in early, soaking herself for far too long in a scalding bath, as though the heat could scour away the phantom touch of heavy rope and mock-gentle fingers she could still feel about her neck. Andromeda's kiss had been a much more effective cleansing, but Narcissa's words had left her with a bitter taste in her mouth and far too many thoughts to allow such comfort to seem as simple or as freeing as it had only hours before.<p>

She tried to sit awake and read, but found herself jumping at the flickering candlelight until she had slunk herself so far into the haven of her blankets that there was no longer enough light to read.

Sleep came with shocking ease. So too did dreams.

As was so oft the case in dreams, the setting was a peculiar hybrid of generic places she had perhaps been, perhaps seen, but could not hope to pinpoint amid her sleeping memories. It was an enclosed space, rather like a piece of the London underground, yet it was clearly lit by some unseen sun, and the turf beneath her sprouted spring-green grass.

She could not feel the grass – she was not truly present, here. No, she was merely an observer, while the characters her mind had summoned were the three sisters, placed in a parody of nonsensical action. There was Andromeda, standing barefoot in the grass, looking with anger down upon something clutched in her hand… rope… no, a leash. Following the line that led from Andromeda's fingers revealed a cruel choke-collar wrapped about the neck of Bellatrix, her pale, sharp-nailed fingers needling the edges of the thick band at her throat. Though it clearly bit into the flesh at her neck, she was fighting the collar calmly, and in doing so, Bellatrix was clearly the one directing their motion across the grass, dragging a reluctant yet helpless Andromeda along behind her, cutting off her own air to do so.

And there was Narcissa, sitting in the grass across the way, staring at her sisters with a look of truly heart wrenching sorrow, eyes brimming with despair, filled with emotion she would never have shown in reality. She made no mood towards the cruel scene between her other siblings, and, upon closer inspection, Hermione could see heavy gilded manacles binding her slender wrists and hobbling her earthbound ankles. The shackles dripped strangely in the sunlight, and Hermione saw they had been carved of shimmering ice.

With a sort of indifference found only in the dreamscape, Hermione watched for another moment, watching Andromeda stumble against Bellatrix's demanding motions, watching Bellatrix scrape a red line down the side of her own neck as she fought to fit her fingernails beneath the cruel circlet of her collar, and watching a single tear drift aimlessly down Narcissa's cheek to join the small puddles of melting ice on the grass around her.

She turned away.

The dream was already fading when she woke, leaving only a lingering feeling of confusion and the knowledge that the three sisters had ingrained themselves once again into another part of her existence.

* * *

><p><strong>AN for the chapter: **Holy sheep, guys. Over 100 reviews in just five chapters? This is madness! But, of course, madness of the Bellatrix sort, the sort we all fall in love with. Really, though, my most precious reviewers, I'm absolutely flattered and honored to have gotten this much attention from my little project fic. I'll admit, you've done a wonderful job of seducing me over to a more permanent residence in the Bellamione world. Thank you again.

On another note, I've gotten a few questions on the ages, here. As you've possibly noticed from some of my little details, this AU is closer to book-verse than movie-verse (Narcissa's blonde hair, Ron's freckles, etc.) so ages are WIZARDING AGES. As JK has said, wizards have significantly longer lifespans than Muggles, meaning a twenty-year age gap might be closer to ten in the Muggle world. The sisters look as they would in the books, not exactly like the movies. I still mostly picture Helen and Helena when writing this, but your interpretation of how… aged they appear… is up to you. If you have a problem with the age difference beyond that, well, what in Merlin's name are you doing reading Bellamione in the first place? Not everyone can be expected to use convenient anti-aging plot devices _all_ of the time!

Ahem.

I love you all,

-Zarrene.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Andromeda, Hermione/Narcissa.

* * *

><p>Determined to turn the kitchen into a cozy haven from the still miserable weather, Hermione cleaned the layers of both magical and earthly soot from the central fireplace. Though magic made an open fire unnecessary, she summoned logs from the cellar and set the fire purely for comfort, starting a hearty stew simmering over it for lunch, filling the room with scents of childhood while she set about her morning breakfast-making routine. Footsteps echoed on distant flagstone, but Hermione paid them no heed, not particularly inspired to engage in human contact. The steps drew closer, though, and Hermione wondered if Andromeda would be joining her for breakfast. The thought drew a heady mixture of longing and apprehension, and she quickly bustled over to stir the stew, determined to distract herself with menial tasks.<p>

She was bent over the fire when she heard the door let out its signature creek. Turning with a greeting and the closest she could summon to a smile, she was unprepared for the shadowy figure her gaze encountered.

There stood Bellatrix, as casual as you please, leaning against a countertop, twirling a lock of untamed hair about the tip of her crooked wand, a faintly condescending smirk quirking up one corner of her mouth.

"Hello, pet."

Though Hermione had been frozen with blinding, instinctive fear, Bellatrix's words seemed to unbind her, and she staggered back a step, nearly searing a hole in the back of her robes against the stewpot. "Wha – h-how…?"

Bellatrix stepped closer, chuckling gaily. "You didn't think I was trapped up there, did you?"

Hermione's mind was racing. She still had no wand, an oversight amid the turmoil that had consumed the last day, but there were carving knives on the wall behind her, and she thought herself just closer to them than Bellatrix was to her. In a frantic dive, she clasped the closest one in her palm, snapping around and holding it out before her in trembling fingers. "Don't come any closer!" she managed, shocked that she hadn't been cursed when her back was turned.

To Hermione's further astonishment, the older witch merely chuckled, not even leveling her wand.

"Ooh, fierce, this one," she said with a smirk. "You can put down the toy; I'm just here for a friendly little chat… girl to girl."

"Why do I find that hard to believe," Hermione muttered under her breath. Still, the tension was fading from her wrist, fingers unclenching about the handle of the knife as the woman kept her distance, remaining unaggressive.

Bellatrix shrugged. "Believe what you will. In the end—" She let her wand fall to the countertop. "—I haven't got magic down here."

Hermione's breath stuttered, more at the look of untempered rage that flashed through the depths of the other woman's eyes than at the startling revelation.

"That's right," she continued, regaining her composure, voice strained with the sheer force of will it took to retain her signature nonchalance, fingers twitching despite her tone of just how much she didn't care. "The Ministry and I aren't exactly peachy, and since they only trust my little sister so far, well…" Bellatrix turned, shrugging her shoulders in a fluid motion that ended with her leaning just too far back to be casual, elbows pressed into the counter to support the weight of her flung-back head, cocked just enough to keep a side-eyed stare on Hermione. "…they decided she ought to have _somewhere_ to run off and hide from me. Of course, if Andy's not here, I can't come downstairs at all."

Despite herself, Hermione was intrigued. Though Bellatrix still moved like some large predator and spoke like an overindulgent child, the degree of madness she had witnessed in her chambers was tempered slightly by the relative normalcy of the conversation. The younger witch was having trouble wrapping her mind around the fact that here stood the woman who had tried to kill her a scant day before, now chatting aimlessly by firelight in the kitchen. Hermione kept eyeing the wand nervously, unsure if her flippant explanation was merely some sort of ruse.

"Why _are_ you here, then?" Hermione asked, keeping a firm hold on the handle of the knife.

Bellatrix curled herself upright again and prowled forward, prompting the younger woman to hasten a pace backwards until it became apparent that her destination was the fireplace, not the other witch. She bent towards the fire and extended her hand, touching the flames for a moment before drawing back with a hiss.

Hermione stared, eyes wide, recalling the ease with which she had been playing with fire when Hermione had found her upstairs.

Bellatrix sighed. "Sometimes, I forget that no magic actually means, well, no magic." Still watching Hermione, she slipped her singed fingertips into her mouth, a hint of tongue chasing them back out, glistening and pink.

Still frightened and not the least bit confused, Hermione blushed at the oddly vulgar display.

Moving to the table, as though standing still for any length of time was truly beyond her, Bellatrix sprawled out into a chair, dominating the space, as if the furniture existed for no other purpose than to serve as her throne. She cocked her head, dark, endless eyes staring up at Hermione quizzically, as though the younger witch were a puzzle she couldn't quite piece together.

"Things really would be so much simpler if you'd just… disappear," she said, waving her hand as though shooing off some invisible wisp of smoke. Her tone hinted she would be quite willing to assist in such a disappearance, especially a disappearance of the most permanent sort. "But I suppose if my sisters are so determined to keep you're dirty little heart beating, well, I'll just have to come up with something else."

Andromeda's words from the previous evening rang in Hermione's head, reminding her that all this was a matter of Andromeda's pursuit of her… her and her impure blood. Though part of her was still trembling and cringing away from cruel memory, another part of Hermione was determined not to spend the rest of her time here living in terror of the eldest sister, shying away from every shadow. Maybe if she just talked to her, convinced her that… what? That she wasn't a blight on the family reputation? That she wasn't just a filthy little Mudblood who had no business being courted by a beautiful, wealthy, highborn Black? It was nothing Hermione didn't already know, nothing she knew she shouldn't have already used to talk herself out of allowing anything more to happen between them. But Andromeda was her safety, and was already becoming so much more, so, hell, she had to try.

Stepping cautiously forward, keeping a firm grasp on the knife, she settled in the chair directly across from the darkly-cut figure. She had learned from a young age that the best way to face her fears was to meet them head-on, and though her fears were not often psychopathic, powerful, murderous women, she was determined to treat Bellatrix as just another fear to overcome.

"Bellatrix – ah, Ms. Lestrange, or, ah, Black?" Hermione stammered over her faux pas, unsure what name to even address this scrambled piece of history by, though her first name was presumptuous in the extreme, even if the woman had tried to kill her only yesterday.

Bellatrix looked amused. "It is Black now, since the bastard's dead. Since I don't really care to have your lips dirtying my family name, I'd say you could call me Bella, but I'm afraid you might faint."

Hermione thought that was distinctly possible.

"Ms. Black, then." She couldn't bring herself to address her as "ma'am." Not after their first encounter. No birthright earned her that respect. "I… your sister and I…"

Bellatrix smirked, leaning forward and twining her fingers together to make a resting place for her chin, exposing a nearly indecent amount of fair skin on her chest, which Hermione couldn't fail to notice, as her black, corseted robes were designed for little else besides showing off those particular assets. "What has my dear sister been whispering in your ears, eh? How much of a _monster_ I am?"

Bellatrix hissed out the word _monster,_ accompanying it with a dart of the head and a snap of her crooked teeth, ending with a wild laugh when Hermione jerked back, heart racing.

"N-no, actually. She tried to, ah, explain you. I understand that you don't approve of us—"

Bellatrix silenced her with a wave of her hand and a highly incredulous look. "Always putting words in my mouth, my little Andy." She stood once again, moving back to the fireplace and dipping a long-nailed finger into Hermione's stew, tasting it with a low hum of approval. "I couldn't give less of a damn if my sister wants to fuck you." Hermione's found herself flinching, curses seeming somehow more vile, more violent, issued from these particular lips. "It's no concern of mine what she chooses to dirty her tongue on."

Hermione felt strangely vindicated. She heard no hint of artifice in Bellatrix's voice, suggesting that her suspicions had been right, that there was some further degree to Bella's hatred towards her, something else that had triggered such a complex, well-timed plan to see her dead.

Gathering her thoughts, Hermione wondered if she dared ask why she had tried to kill her, then. Somehow, the thought of bringing up their encounter yesterday made it too real. Hermione feared that, should she mention how single-mindedly the other woman had pursued her death, it could bring the idea back to the forefront of her twisted mind.

"I… I suppose I'm relieved, then."

Before she could form any further reply, a swirl of color and displaced air signaled Andromeda's Apparation into the kitchen. She looked haggard; hair disheveled, robes askew, inky circles smeared painfully dark beneath sharp, angry eyes. Her wand was out, honing in immediately on her sister.

"We talked about this last night," Andromeda snapped out, voice nearly a growl.

"Oh, hello, Andy. Have to say, I'm a bit surprised to see you here." Bellatrix didn't so much as turn to face her, only acknowledging her presence with her words. "Thought you'd still be sleeping off that healing hangover. Must've been a nasty one. I'm sure this little toy was a bit more… chewed up when I returned her yesterday, so someone must have made quite the effort to… fix it. Besides—" She sauntered over to stand just behind Hermione's chair, bending down and plucking the knife from the younger witch's unsuspecting fingers. "—you know how I am." She casually hung the knife back in its proper place on the rack, leaving it with a lingering stroke down the length of the blade. "I so often… forget the little things you tell me. So many rules…" She sighed dramatically.

Andromeda's eyes were flashing fire, yet it seemed to drip right off of her older sister as easily as the flames she had played with in the fireplace upstairs. Bellatrix's unflappable cynicism was undaunted by her own lack of magic and Andy's hissed, "Get out, Bella."

With an exaggerated pout and a cheeky little wave, Bellatrix sauntered from the room, scooping up her wand as she went and twirling it up into her mass of curls like an oversized chopstick. The door swung shut behind her, leaving only the lingering words, "We'll be talking later, pet."

Bellatrix's departure seemed to return the air to the room. Hermione slumped forward, resting her forehead on crossed arms and letting out a shuddering breath into the tabletop. Andromeda quickly took over the space behind her, resting her hands on the younger witch's shoulders. "It's all right, she's gone."

Hermione let out her lingering fear in a pained burst of laughter. "Sure she is. For now. But she'll be back – and now I know she can find me anytime, how can I ever—"

"She can only come down when I'm here, and even then, she has no magic."

Hermione found it strange, hearing Bellatrix's own words echoing from the younger sister's lips, affirming their truth.

Andromeda paced around to take over the seat across from her.

"And every time she does come down, every time she leaves the third floor, I know. It's part of what the Ministry did to her magic – like a little alarm that goes off in my head whenever she steps off the bottom stair. If she were ever to leave the grounds, a beacon alert would go out across the entire wizarding world, and the Ministry could track her immediately."

Hermione felt torn for a moment, wondering at how caged the eldest Black must feel, knowing she could never so much as leave a single floor without notifying someone. Still, in a cruel way, it was a sensible precaution, and it did make her feel marginally safer.

Andromeda continued, "The only reason it took me so long to react today was, well…"

"Healing?" Hermione inquired, cutting her off. "It takes quite a lot out of you, doesn't it." It wasn't really a question.

Andromeda nodded. "There's a reason that most healers work in large wizarding hospitals like St. Mungo's, surrounded by aids and potions and all sort of things. You probably know that one of the most basic magical rules is our inability to create food. Healing is like that. It isn't possible to simply magic away an injury, though you can hide the pain or stop the bleeding. Actually convincing a body to fix itself takes energy, life energy, and, in an emergency, trained wizards can draw it from themselves."

Hermione had run into this side of Andromeda before, the side that felt the need to use every opportunity to explain some piece of magic or another to her student.

"As an Auror, I was trained to use it in battle, in the field, and I always had a talent for it, but healing any major injury… it exhausts me. I was so deeply asleep that Bella's alert barely registered as anything more than a blip in bad dream."

"I'm sorry – if I'd have known it hurt you to heal me, I never would have—"

"What? Gotten hurt?" Andromeda smiled at her to soften the derision in her voice. "You never asked me to heal you; I was glad to. It's a rush of its own, healing. Nearly addicting."

Hermione recalled the flush of warmth she had felt - the headiness, the strange joy – and though she could see the draw.

"I'll never regret healing you – only that you were hurt in the first place," she finished softly, gazing at Hermione with unconcealed tenderness, an emotion the younger witch had not often seen from her.

Hermione decided it would do no good to ask her not to heal her again; she would just do her best to stay out of trouble. Seeing Andromeda this exhausted was pain enough. "Should you be resting?" she asked, though she didn't want her to go. "You look dreadful." She added hastily, "I mean, dreadfully tired, exhausted."

Andromeda pursed her lips. "Yes, I know, but I've gotten more sleep than my body would usually allow me, so it would be no good going back to bed." A quick smile flashed across her lips. "It would be marvelous, though, to get some fresh air. If you wouldn't mind putting that delicious-smelling stew on hold and you don't think you'll melt in the rain… I think we ought to have our lunch."

Hermione felt her mood brighten, an almost physical thing, lightening her heart and drawing a real smile to her lips. Oh, it would be heaven, to get out of this house for a while, to leave behind all the many complexities it held, to put aside the fear now simmering just behind each closed door. Practicality, however, demanded she ask, "What about the others? Won't Narcissa—"

Andromeda cut her off. "Lucius and Narcissa are off somewhere arguing about Draco and which of them it was who royally fucked his life up the arse. If it were me, of course, I'd just blame the Dark Lord and be done with it, seeing as he is conveniently evil and very conveniently dead. However, the two of them can go at it for hours; no one will miss us."

_Except Bellatrix_, Hermione startled herself by thinking. She wondered what on earth the oldest sister did up there all day, alone save the occasional visit of one sister or the other. _Destroy things, I suppose._ A moment of pity flashed through her, but she pushed it aside. Even if Bellatrix deserved Hermione's pity, the young woman knew she wouldn't want it, and it did no good to dwell on a situation not of her own making and far beyond her control.

"If you give me a bit to… sort myself out, I'll meet you by the main doors and we can head over to Diagon to have brunch."

"I'd like that," Hermione answered, rising with the other witch.

Andromeda turned to go, then turned back, taking Hermione's hands and staring into her eyes beseechingly. "My sister… she… she can't be trusted, Hermione. When she isn't screaming bloody murder, she has a golden tongue; she's fooled many a bright witch with her lies."

Hermione met those pleading eyes and wanted to simply nod, to accept Andromeda's words at face value. Yet there was still that nagging sense that something wasn't right. That there was something Andromeda wouldn't say to her; something she was afraid Bellatrix would instead. Still, she pushed her doubts aside and gently squeezed the older witch's hands with her own. "I trust you," she said.

It was true. Despite whatever was hiding behind that imploring gaze, Hermione trusted that there was a reason she couldn't know, a need for the strange secrecy. She hardly expected any one of these women to treat her as a confidant, to let her in on all the deep, dark secrets haunting the family name. She trusted Andromeda to tell her the things that mattered, and she trusted herself to take anything Bellatrix deigned to give her with a grain of salt. Perhaps there were truths to be found from the eldest sister, but perhaps they were truths she was never meant to know.

Andromeda nodded briskly, gaze darting back and forth between Hermione's eyes, searching for something Hermione hoped she found, then she was gone, leaving the kitchen filled once more with nothing but the warmth of the fire, the scent of garlic, onion, and pepper, and the ever present shadows lingering in the silence.

* * *

><p>Upstairs, Hermione sat on the corner of her bed, staring at the three options she had of what to wear. She knew she was being illogical, worrying about this as though it were some sort of fancy occasion; she knew they were eating at a very casual spot. But she couldn't help but want to do something different. Her only robes were of the practical sort – acceptable for staffing a manor or walking about wizarding London, but rather depressing to wear on a date. She's left her dressier robes at home, as they were hand-me-downs from her mum and had never quite fit properly. At home, she had plenty of the more everyday sort of clothing one wore to pass about in the Muggle side of London – after all, everyone knew that it was cheaper to buy herbs at a Muggle grocery than in a potions store or an apothecary – but she had only brought a few things with her. She finally settled on the only dress she had packed; too light, really for the damp autumn day, but with her cloak slipped overtop, she could hide from the rain.<p>

Andromeda was waiting at the end of the stairs, and Hermione felt her mouth go dry at the sight. It seemed that they were of similar minds, as she had forsaken robes as well, favoring instead dark, tailored slacks and a plain fitted blouse, cut to draw the eyes first to the waist, the neckline high enough that impolite glances would be merely an afterthought. She looked poised, elegant, yet the lack of robes seemed somehow more indecent than even the nightwear Hermione had found her in on that one, memorable occasion. She looked younger. She looked beautiful.

Hermione flushed, realizing she had been stalled on the third step, staring. Andromeda gave her a very genuine smile and her own appreciative look before extending her arm. "Shall we?"

Hermione smiled back. "Yes."

* * *

><p>Hermione had a feeling she had rendered Andromeda slightly speechless at several occasions throughout their meal. She had decided that, if she were to do this, she would do it her way. She had never been a naturally shy child, or even a particularly subservient woman. When around people who she trusted, liked, and was on relatively equal footing with, she could be casual, could converse with ease, could laugh and smile and joke widely and freely. Though she still felt herself to be the courted party, and though Andromeda was clearly directing the encounter, if the older witch had been expecting to dine with the girl who was her servant and student, she was destined to be surprised. Oh, no; Hermione would do this fresh or not at all.<p>

Thankfully, Andromeda didn't seem to mind.

While waiting for their meal, the two witches shared those delightful little stories everyone has, the ones of no real importance, just details of their lives that held no bearing on either of their futures, but which gave the other party that sense of knowing them more intimately that the average bystander.

Of course, in the more hesitant conversation over the food, there were moments when words faltered, when a line could be seen leading off into the distance where a subject stood which was not to be discussed… Bellatrix, the War, Hermione's job… The happiness Hermione found lay in the fact that Andromeda had been correct – they were able to separate it all.

It felt new.

By the time Andromeda ordered them a pot of tea to linger over, Hermione had relaxed into the booth seat, leaning in the nook between the backrest and the wall, one ear to the rain and the other to her company. Andromeda was leaning close across the space, laughing brightly, playing one fine-boned finger along the rim of her cup.

"I could get very used to this," she said, taking a lingering sip.

Hermione smiled. "That… yes." She was surprised by how much time had passed, the clock over the bar reading well past noon. "This was…" _Easy,_ she thought. _Easy to sit here, to smile, to laugh, to pretend neither of us had a care in the world. _"…lovely," she said instead.

Andromeda leaned closer. "It isn't over yet," she murmured conspiratorially.

Hermione felt crimson work her way up her cheeks. There were always these sudden moments with Andromeda, moments that were so charged with that powerful, sensual energy she had, moments that made Hermione want to throw caution to the wind and kiss the older witch until she had forgotten how to breathe. The look in Andromeda's eyes hinted that Hermione's desires were more than mutual and if she didn't tread with caution, well, Andromeda wouldn't be responsible for the consequences.

Before the tension in the air could find an outlet, a silvery form, a shimmering blur with wings, flittered around the corner of the opening door and settled in front of Andromeda's face, revealing itself as some sort of small hawk. Quickly setting aside her teacup, she slipped to the edge of the booth and stood. "This is from Cissa – I need to step outside."

Hermione nodded, though she wasn't sure the other woman saw as she headed briskly for the exit, Cissa's Patronus soaring after her.

Catching the door just before it could close behind Andromeda, a group of four entered; student-age, perhaps, and including two figures Hermione vaguely recognized, even from behind.

There were two girls she'd never seen before – a blonde with long, wavy hair and the largest spectacles Hermione had seen outside of tourist shops and a ginger whose hair matched the first of the two boy's. It was these boys who looked familiar, and it took the dark-haired one turning around and facing her to place it.

That was Harry Potter.

And _that_ was Ronald Weasley.

And he was the one who had kissed her under the mistletoe two years ago.

Somehow, despite the many times she had seen their pictures in the papers, it had never clicked for her. Perhaps it was the magic-touchup's in the photographs, perhaps it was just not something that would have crossed her mind, but now, faced with a visage she had seen peering out at her from _Undesirable No. 1_ posters and ducking from camera flashes on the cover of the _Daily Prophet_, looking into the face of that freckled youth who had blushed so adorably before pecking her on the lips, now she made the connection. It was certainly something.

A wry smile twitching about her mouth, she turned back to her tea, laughing internally at the fact that she, of all people, had once kissed _the _Ronald Weasley, and she couldn't be bothered to really care.

They chose a table well within Hermione's line of sight. She watched Harry nudge his friend in the side with his elbow and jerk his head none-too-casually in her direction. Ron visibly started when he saw her, meeting her eyes for an awkward moment before jerking around and shoving Harry's shoulder. Hermione was even more amused to see that even the most famous wizards of her generation were still little more than teenaged boys.

The girl with Ron's hair laughed at something Harry had whispered in her ear and the two of them proceeded to shove Ron out of his seat, despite his visible protests. Giving in, he finally stood on his own, straightening his button-up shirt and shoving his hands deeply into this pockets. His unfortunately pale complexion was sporting a shade of red more commonly belonging on the coat of an Irish Setter.

To Hermione's further amusement, he approached her table, sitting across from her without invitation.

Hermione supposed she ought to have felt flattered, or honored, or shy, or something more fitting being seated across from a celebrity, but all she felt was more of that peculiar amusement.

"Hullo, again," he said, voice only slightly strained. "Fancy meeting you here."

A whole plethora of replies darted through Hermione's mind, and she almost decided on "Do I know you?" but decided that would just be cruel.

Instead, she merely nodded. "Yes, hello. I don't believe we've ever been properly introduced. I'm Hermione Granger." She took a sip of her rapidly cooling tea.

"Ron. Ah, Ron Weasley."

Hermione smiled. "I know."

He gave an exasperated sigh and ran his hand through his hair. "Hard not to, eh? Still getting used to this whole 'famous' stuff."

His normalcy was charming, refreshing after her rather impossible year. He wasn't cocky about his fame, seeming truly embarrassed that everyone knew him on sight.

She didn't reply, unsure what purpose this conversation could have yet unwilling to end it rudely.

"Harry saw you and thought I should ask if you wanted to come sit with us?" He spoke rapidly, tripping over his words.

"I'm sorry; I'm actually just… waiting for someone. Thank you, though."

The look of disappointment on his face was almost comical. "You could wait with us?"

Hermione spared a rueful smile and shook her head.

A look of determination crossed his face. "I'll wait here, then. No use leaving a lady sitting alone."

His insistence was beginning to become less charming.

Unsure of a polite way to get rid of him, Hermione remained quiet.

He, however, started chattering.

"I know we don't know each other well or, eh at all, but I wouldn't mind seeing you around again. I figure it was pretty rude of me to kiss you like that and not even stay and talk, but, well, mistletoe is a bugger sometimes." He looked at her pleadingly, as though expecting her to have some insight to offer into their one, distinctly less-than-memorable kiss.

"Already forgotten," she said with an accommodating smile.

If anything, he looked almost comically stricken. "But it isn't though! I, ah, I mean…" He flushed even further, the tips of his ears blending into his hair. "I thought maybe we might…"

His words were interrupted by Andromeda's reentrance, sliding into the booth beside Hermione and placing a possessive hand on her thigh with a murmured, "Have I missed something?"

Ron's eyebrows shot up for a moment, though he couldn't see the reason for Hermione's sudden blush Instead, an odd look of relief crossed his face. "Oh, hullo Andy."

Hermione glanced askance at the other witch, but Andromeda's attention was focused on Ron. "Ronald, how nice to see you." She didn't sound particularly warm. "And how is my grandson doing?"

"Oh, he's good, really, I'm sure my mum and Harry'd love it if you stopped by."

She nodded absently, glancing between Ron and Hermione with sharp eyes.

"Look, we were just wondering – Harry and I, that is – if Hermione might want to come have lunch with us, if you could maybe… ah… spare her for a bit?" Ron's words sputtered out under the cool look Andromeda was giving him. Her hand slipped from Hermione's thigh and settled instead at the small of her back, bringing them closer together.

"I already ate, actually," Hermione interjected, trying not to squirm. "Thanks, though."

Andromeda added, "We were just leaving."

To Hermione's astonishment, Ron reached over the tabletop and took her hand. "Brilliant! If you're going, Hermione can just bum around with us for a while."

Hermione withdrew her hand hastily, shaking her head. "Ron, I—"

"I'm afraid Hermione's afternoon is spoken for," Andromeda murmured, a tone of warning in her voice which Ron either did not hear or chose to ignore.

"Aw, c'mon, I'm sure whatever business you two've got can wait a while. Let her have some fun."

Andromeda's patience had worn thin. Her fingers were tracing distracted lines up and down the column of Hermione's spine, and it was wreaking havoc with her concentration. "As much as I'm sure you think you're the only one who can show her a good time, Mr. Weasley—"

Hearing the danger in the other woman's voice, Hermione quickly cut her off. "Ron I… I think you have the wrong idea."

Ron, growing improbably more confidant throughout their exchange, made the unfortunate choice to ask flirtatiously, "And what idea might that be?"

Andromeda sighed. "Didn't want to have to do this…"

Turning, Hermione found Andromeda only a breath from her face, and then the breath was stolen, and Hermione was being kissed – gently, chastely, but kissed all the same – in a café full of people.

Hermione's face was burning, her lips were tingling, and her breath was short when Andromeda drew back after only a lingering heartbeat of connection.

Across the floor, Harry and the redheaded girl burst into astonished laughter after an instant of stunned silence, while the blonde's whimsical voice said, very matter-of-fact, "They make a lovely couple."

Ron's mouth was hanging open, and he seemed too stunned to be angry or embarrassed. "You… you and…"

Andromeda stood, extending her hand to Hermione as she slid from the booth behind her. She intertwined their fingers as she left a smattering of Knuts on the table for a tip.

"Do say hello to Teddy for me," she spoke, as casually as could possibly be.

As they headed to the door, Harry's raucous laughter echoed behind them. "Whoo, Ron. She's a bit out of your league, huh?"

Hermione couldn't decide if the warmth she felt at having such public acknowledgement of Andromeda's affections and the hysterically stunned expression on Ronald Weasley's face should make her feel so giddy, but she couldn't help it.

It felt wonderful.

Suddenly, she noticed that Andromeda's distracted expression, standing under the awning to keep out of the rain as she quickly drew her wand from the clasp which held it at her belt.

"Sorry to cut this short, but I'm afraid we'll have to hurry back."

"Is this about the Patronus?" Hermione asked. "What did Narcissa want?"

Andromeda nodded and sighed. "No one's hurt but… Bella burnt half the house down."

* * *

><p><strong>AN for the chapter:** Don't even know what to put in this author's note because I'm afraid you'll all kill me regardless. I'm sorry that I'm a hypocritical, lying asshat who never updates and who is basically the worst person in the world. But I'm back, eh?

Really, though, I'm sorry this took so long. Being, well, younger than most of you readers probably think I am, May is the busiest time of the year for me, and I was drowning in real life insanity for far too long to indulge in the more pleasurable sorts of insanity found in my writing. I missed you all terribly.

A few warnings: I'm registered for a fic-a-thon in another fandom, so my next chapter may also be delayed, and in early July, I'm off into a land without internet, computers, or cell phones for two weeks, but I should hopefully eek out a few bits and pieces in between all of that. I promise I haven't abandoned you, and my darling reviewers are absolutely the best positive reinforcement I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Best wishes, kindest regards, and all my love,

-Zarrene.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Andromeda, Hermione/Narcissa.

* * *

><p>Staring uncomprehending from her place amid the rubble, Hermione feared Andromeda had Apparated them into an impressionist painting, so surreal was the view.<p>

There was soot in the air and charcoal all along the ground, yet even in places where the walls had burned away completely, paintings hung in midair, vases and sculptures perched on missing, ashen tables, a flickering blue haze of magic enclosing them, protecting them from the floating swirls of smoke. "At least the insurance paid off," Andromeda muttered, scuffing one foot into a heap of some blackened belonging. "Everything worth anything was protected when the flames appeared, though we'll still need to ship most of it somewhere else until we can clear away this rubble."

Even entire rooms of the house had been given their own shielding; Andromeda's study, half of the dining hall, the library. All of the family's most valuable possessions and heirlooms remained untouched. Unfortunately, it appeared that things like beds, couches, tables and chairs had been concessions of a more modern – less valued – nature, and sat forlornly covered in soot and char marks, if the fire had not consumed them entirely.

Andromeda sighed, coughing and waving her arm before her eyes. "Well. Nothing too serious – maintenance should have it fixed by tomorrow morning." Just then, a large support beam crashed to the ground, followed by a shower of rubble, leaving it obvious that the entire third floor was floating unsupported above them. "Perhaps a day or two," Andromeda amended, glowering up at what had once been a ceiling.

Hermione arched an eyebrow behind Andromeda's back. This much damage could take weeks, months to repair, though Hermione supposed something could be said for hiring expensive staff and paying some exorbitant amount of money to hasten the process.

She kept pace behind Andromeda, walking across the ruin of the main hallway, glancing up warily at the hovering floor above their heads. Soon, she could make out Narcissa amid a cluster of people Hermione didn't recognize.

"With the house in ruins, is there any chance of Bellatrix Lestrange getting loose into the community once more?"

Some nosey reporter had cornered Narcissa as she attempted to speak to the Ministry law enforcement officials who had arrived on the scene. She was bussing about the space, asking pointed questions and peering slyly over the top of rhinestone-encrusted spectacles, a shockingly green quill hovering in the air by her head, turning this way and that, as though taking in the scene, before darting down and scratching unaided at the parchment in the her hands.

"No," Narcissa snapped, clearly at wit's end.

"I find that hard to believe," the woman needled. "What other possible motive could your sister have for committing arson in her own home?"

"Why don't you scuttle on upstairs and ask her, Rita?" Narcissa remarked, finally giving up her attempts to speak with the officer in charge and devoting her full, furious attention to the irritating reporter. "After all, I'm dying to find that out for myself."

The woman visibly blanched, taking a quick step back.

Narcissa's eyes glinted. "Yes, that's what I'd thought. You haven't changed since Hogwarts. If you've nothing better to do than pester me about my sister, I suggest you leave." She started to turn away, but the reporter made a small, squeaking noise of protest, so she spun back. "Actually, that wasn't a suggestion. Get out of my home."

Clearly at a loss for words, she was helpless to stop Narcissa from turning her attention back to the matter at hand. When she realized she was likely to be ignored at best, physically evicted at worst, she reluctantly meandered across the lawn to try to speak to the two befuddled house-elves staring in wide-eyed shock over the hedging between their quarters and the main lawn.

Some of the tension went out of Narcissa's posture when she realize Andromeda had arrived. "She swears it was an accident," said Narcissa in a clipped voice, "yet the entire third floor was charmed against smoke and Fiendfyre."

Andromeda kicked a hunk of charred wood. "That little shit."

"What in Merlin's name did you say to her last night?" Narcissa asked, sudden anger flaring in her eyes. "She's been perfectly manageable until now."

Andromeda shook her head. "Don't try and pin this on me, Cissa."

"You can't actually think—"

"—No." Andromeda held up a hand. "Bella would be thrilled to see us fighting now. It isn't worth it. Let's focus on fixing this as quickly as possible and you can lecture me all you want later."

Narcissa's scowl only deepened, but she nodded reluctantly. "Very well."

A flurry of activity just outside the blackened outline of the manor's foundation drew the attention of all three witches. Hermione recognized the man who was approaching from his frequent appearances on the cover of the _Daily Prophet_; the tall, dark, somewhat imposing figure of the recently appointed Minister of Magic. He'd been approached by that same irksome reporter as he neared, and his brisk words carried through the chilly air to where Hermione was standing. "This is not a public matter, Ms. Skeeter, and should I find one word about any of this in your column before our official press release, I can assure you that you will not find your stay in prison a pleasant one. Good day."

Looking almost comically affronted, she scanned the space around her before apparently deciding this story was more hassle than it was worth and scurrying off down the drive.

Meanwhile, Kingsley Shacklebolt, interim Minister and likely candidate to hold the position more permanently, came to a halt before the trio of women, shaking his head, an expression of distant annoyance on his face.

There was a pregnant pause before he finally spoke. "You do realize what a difficult situation your sister is putting the Ministry in, don't you?"

Narcissa let out a derisive snort but said nothing. Andromeda merely shrugged. "Not an insurmountable one. The house will be fixed in a matter of days."

He glanced around skeptically. "Perhaps. Convenient, though, isn't it, that her quarters remain untouched?"

"Not really," Narcissa muttered. "Not even Bellatrix would burn herself alive just to make a point."

"Are you saying this wasn't an escape attempt?"

"Hardly."

Kingsley blinked, apparently unconvinced.

When Narcissa didn't seem inclined to elaborate, turning her attention instead to flicking away some sort of beetle buzzing around her head, Andromeda took over, voice placatingly matter-of-fact. "You of all people should know that Bellatrix is not a fool. This was a fit of anger, a… temper tantrum, if you will, and a matter for me and my sister to deal with, nothing more than that. Your Trace is still viable, the grounds are untouched, and she hasn't even tried to so much as walk down the stairs. If she planned an escape, it wouldn't be nearly this dramatic."

"Perhaps," the Minister said again, "but there are more practical concerns to deal with."

"Such as?" Narcissa asked dryly, sounding almost bored.

"The Ministry wants nothing to do with this… mess. You sister cannot be allowed to stay here unsupervised, not with the parts of her containment spells potentially weakened by the state of your household wards. You two are going to have to deal with this. Until the manor is fully rebuilt and my committee has time to re-lay the limits Bellatrix is under, neither you, nor your sister may leave the grounds. Starting at dusk, only one of you may leave the third floor at a time."

Narcissa bristled. "Unacceptable. Even if the fire was on the lower floors, Bellatrix made the third unlivable months ago. I—"

Andromeda laid a restraining hand on her sister's arm, squeezing gently to get her attention and shaking her head before addressing Kingsley. "As long as you extend the binding spells to the third floor for a few days," she started, voice pleasant, upbeat, "we'll make do."

Glancing suspiciously back and forth, Kingsley reluctantly nodded. "I'll see to it, but see that you do. This whole arrangement is skating on thin ice with the Wizengamot; one more incident and you could all stand trial again."

He turned and headed for the Apparation point just beyond the gates, cloak stirring up clouds of ash behind him.

* * *

><p>Hermione did little but stand silently throughout these conversations and the many which followed, watching as Lucius stormed out from behind one of the few standing walls, lamenting loudly at the loss of his liquor collection and cursing Bellatrix's name in every other breath. A parade of official figures meandered about the space, some speaking to Andromeda about the state of her insurance claim, others negotiating with Narcissa over the price of reconstruction, the potential for restoration. Both sisters repeatedly turned away the Aurors who arrived to investigate the source of the fire, insisting that Bellatrix wasn't fit to talk to anyone and, besides, everyone with half a mind knew just what had happened here.<p>

Hermione did her best to stay out of the way and to keep from being underfoot, eventually joining the house elves across the lawn and attempting to reassure them that everything would be back to normal in a matter of days. While Rommie and Atcham attempted to be their usual deferent, professional selves, Hermione could tell by the gradual relaxation of their nervously twitching ears that they secretly appreciated her presence.

Andromeda joined her just as the sun was beginning to set, and the elves faded away without a word.

She sat beside the younger witch on the low stone bench, sighing deeply before running an agitated, soot-stained hand through her hair. "Not exactly how I pictured this afternoon ending," she muttered, attempting a strained smile.

Hermione shivered as a gust of wind sent a flurry of crimson leaves to stain the ground at their feet. She clutched her cloak more tightly about her. _No, it certainly isn't_, she thought, trying to summon the light, airy mood that had accompanied their earlier brunch. Yet the morning seemed as distant as last summer, every moment of peace she'd had in the past two days shattered by Bellatrix's presence. She found herself missing the time when her only awareness of the oldest sister had been of an invisible presence somewhere above her head, but she'd entered Hermione's life with all the subtlety of a Bludger to a broomstick, and there was no way to lock her back out again.

Andromeda's head came to rest against Hermione's shoulder, drawing her out of her musings. It was the most vulnerable she had seen the older woman, eyes closed, forehead streaked with black powder from the path her hand had taken, breath shallow and strained. As if with a mind of its own, her hand raised to stroke through Andromeda's tangled hair, drawing a slower, more contended breath from her lips. Eyes still closed, she spoke so softly Hermione could hardly hear. "Don't leave."

"Leave?" Hermione asked, hand stilling, genuinely confused.

She could feel Andromeda nod her head. "I… Don't let her chase you away. Please."

Hermione stiffened, finally realizing what Andromeda meant. Before she could find words, Andromeda had raised her head, pulling Hermione closer and finding her hands, clasping them tightly between her own. "I'll keep you safe. I promise. I swear it." Her eyes were exhausted, wild. She sounded close to tears.

Hermione tried to sort through her own emotions, but everything felt strangely deadened. There was a mild sort of dread, an ever-present twinge of fear, but it was less than even the surprise she felt that she hadn't even _considered _leaving. It hadn't so much as crossed her mind.

She met Andromeda's eyes, feeling lost. When had this become what she wanted? When had the feelings she had for this woman become the only thing she could ever imagine herself needing? When had this safety – and this desire that lingered even in a moment like this – replaced all of her common sense? When had she stopped holding hope for all the childhood dreams of white weddings and two perfect children and handsome grooms without psychotic sisters? Had she ever wanted that? Had she ever wanted anything besides this, besides the woman pressed to her side, besides the long, slender fingers claiming her own, besides this glimpse of beautiful, poignant vulnerability in those deep, dangerous eyes?

"Andy," she whispered out, shortening her name for the first time, despite the permission she had been granted so many times before. "I'm not going anywhere."

A strangled sound escaped from Andromeda's throat, and she pulled Hermione closer, burying her face in the younger woman's throat and wrapping her arms about her tightly. Hermione's arms hung uselessly in the air for a moment before slowly returning the embrace. Even through the sharp scent of burning that lingered over the both of them, Hermione could smell that delicate scent she associated with Andromeda. It triggered a wellspring of emotions in her, and she couldn't help but whisper, "Even now, I feel safe with you."

She felt Andromeda stiffen, hands forming claws against her back. Andromeda's shoulders started shaking a moment before she felt dampness against her neck, and she realized the other witch was crying.

No knowing what else to do, she held still, not sure what level of comfort to offer when she wasn't sure exactly what sort of tears were being shed. The tears only lasted a moment before Andromeda pulled back, a pained expression on her face, wiping frantically at her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I – I've made you all these promises and I…" Her voice seemed to fail her for a moment, and her eyes were blinking rapidly, clearly trying to press back more tears. In a visible effort of will, she composed herself. "I'm afraid I'm a bit of a fraud," she said, voice oddly empty. "I haven't always been able to protect the people I… care about… from Bellatrix."

Hermione's eyes widened a fraction, and she started to ask what had happened, what had left such emotional scarring behind, but Andromeda wasn't finished. "It's going to be different this time," she said, voice hard.

The tone brooked no further discussion, and though Hermione felt an almost desperate curiosity, Andromeda was standing, the light was fading, and her questions could wait until tomorrow.

Two figures approached, silhouetted against the last rays of sunlight. They met halfway, Lucius looking quite as disheveled as Andromeda, while Narcissa had somehow retained a semblance of cleanliness, only the distinctly dulled glint of the metal buckles on her shoes illustrating that the soot affected even her. "We'd better get upstairs and sort out just where we're staying tonight," Narcissa said, pointedly ignoring her sister's red-rimmed eyes.

In silent agreement, the four trekked across the lawn, Hermione staying as far from Lucius as possible, as this was the most she'd been around him since her first day. Some sort of white tarp had been hung over the floating paintings, artwork, and other valuables to protect them from the ashes, giving the peculiar maze of half-burnt walls a ghostly appearance in the dying light. The implications of the damages began to sink into Hermione's exhausted brain, realizing that none of the three or four fully-insured rooms had been anything suitable for sleeping in.

A single stairway had been reconstructed in a manner clearly designed for functionality, not esthetics, but it led them safely up to one corner of the eerily floating third floor. Hermione hesitated at the threshold, but Andromeda was behind her, and slipped a comforting arm about her waist before gently pressing her forward into the dark.

"_Lumos!" _Narcissa muttered, summoning light to the tip of her wand before flicking the ball of illumination at one of the sconces on the walls. Hermione watched in detached wonder as the light spread from one light fixture to another, until each of the main halls had been lit up. She'd never seen the traditionally simple spell do _that_ before.

A glance about revealed Bellatrix standing at the far end of the left corridor, leaning against a wall, a distinctly amused smirk on her lips. "Welcome to my most humble abode," she called out mockingly, spreading her hands wide in a gesture of pseudo-invitation, voice crude and unnecessarily loud in the empty space.

Hermione felt herself flinch reflexively just from seeing the eldest Black again, and Andromeda drew her into the circle of her arms. "Remember," she whispered, lips against Hermione's ear, "The Ministry's keeping her magic suppressed completely until we've finished repairs. She can't hurt you."

_So _that's _what she was asking for; the binding,_ Hermione realized. It left her feeling… marginally safer. The key word being _marginally. _Then, it occurred to her that it hadn't been Bellatrix's choice to stand creepily at the end of the darkened hall; rather, without magic, many of the manor's most basic functions were denied her.

Narcissa hadn't stopped with the rest of them, continuing down the corridor to stand before Bellatrix instead.

"So sorry I didn't invite you to the bonfire, Cissy. We could've toasted marshmallows."

_Crack._

Hermione startled at the sound, Narcissa's motion so quick she hadn't even seen her raise her hand, and had Bellatrix's cheek not flushed an angry red, she wouldn't have quite believed the slap to have happened. "If you _ever_ do something as idiotic as this again I can guarantee I will personally welcome the Dementors into the house myself, am I understood?"

Bellatrix stroked her cheek, a thoughtful expression on her face. She hadn't even flinched when her sister had struck her. "Hmmm," she started, contemplative. "I can't say that threat works quite the way it used to, Cissy. I know you hate the creatures as much as I do. Might even say you fear them more." She spoke softly, yet there was a hint of taunting challenge in her tone.

Narcissa twitched, but didn't step back. "You forget. If they come here, it isn't me they'll feed from."

Bellatrix shrugged. "Pity. You'd be a tastier soul." She brushed past her sister and started towards the space where Hermione, Andromeda, and Lucius stood. "Lucky for the both of us I tire quickly of even my own games," she called over her shoulder. "Don't worry, the fire and I have had our fun." She laughed, a shrill, affected sound, echoing behind her as she turned down the middle hall. "For now."

Though all of the sisters often seemed larger-than-life to Hermione, there was a degree of _presence_ to Bellatrix that the others didn't quite have. Whenever Bellatrix was in a room, she may well have been the only one there, so thoroughly did she command attention. It reminded Hermione a bit of the theatre; the over exaggerated lines, the sprawling, space-consuming postures, the way she seemed to type-cast herself in her own role, dressing the part of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's closest servant, even after his death… Acting the part of madness? While the thought occurred to her, Hermione dismissed it immediately, ignoring the niggling voice at the back of her mind that wondered if, perhaps, this home was merely the stage upon which Bellatrix was putting on her latest show.

Regardless of its origin, the presence Bellatrix possessed left the hallway feeling distinctly larger, emptier, once she had moved on.

It took Hermione a moment to realize Lucius was staring at her… at her and Andromeda… and she quickly tugged herself out of the little safe-haven Andromeda's arms had offered her. While Andromeda seemed quite content to act as though there wasn't a thing wrong with her many-faceted interactions with the younger woman, Hermione knew there was a line between courage and stupidity, and antagonizing Lucius needlessly certainly fell closer to the latter.

He sniffed dismissively, turning his attention to his wife. "Where are we sleeping?" he groused, peering intently down the two visible corridors.

Narcissa bark of laughter was near glacial. "_We_ aren't sleeping anywhere. _I_ will be taking the eastern guest chambers, and _you_ can do what you will."

And she was gone, disappearing down the same hallway Bellatrix had taken before the sound of a doorknob turning signaled that she had claimed her space.

Lucius was livid, his pale skin a distinctly unflattering shade of angry puce. As he made to follow his wife, Andromeda intervened, noting, "There's another set of rooms at the end of the other hall."

He stopped walking, but seemed snared by indecision, unable to decide between pursuing his wife to regain a semblance of his pride or cutting his losses and sleeping peacefully alone. He turned, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, but it was misguided. His eyes strayed from the direction Andromeda had indicated and landed on Hermione. "Where's the girl sleeping?" he asked pointedly, eyes glinting.

Hermione could sense Andromeda tensing up behind her, but wasn't sure how to defuse the situation.

"Once I know you're settled," Andromeda started, voice low, cautionary, "I'll be sorting that out with her."

He stepped closer, but something he saw in Andromeda's face made him hesitate. "Fine," he snapped, spinning on his heel and storming down the hall, door slamming shut behind him.

Leaving Hermione alone with Andromeda and her thoughts.

"Where exactly _am_ I sleeping?" she asked warily, echoing Lucius's inquiry.

"With me," Andromeda said.

Hermione's eyes widened almost comically, and Andromeda flushed, hastening to add, "Ah, that is, there's only one other bedroom on this floor, and even if there were two, I… well… I wouldn't leave you alone up here."

Slowly, Hermione nodded, trying not to think too hard about the emotional responses those words had triggered. "I… thanks. But… I don't want to cause trouble… I could always… stay back at home. Just for a few days."

"No!" Andromeda snapped. Hermione flinched. Immediately, the older witch's eyes softened. She hastened to add, "You don't need to do that; it's no trouble." Seeing the uncertainty in Hermione's expression, she amended, "If… if you feel uncomfortable staying with me—"

"—Oh, I didn't mean… I wasn't implying… Oh, never mind," Hermione stammered, finally laughing a bit at the absurdity of the whole thing. "This is ridiculous."

Andromeda's lips quirked at the younger woman's mirth. "It is a bit." She gestured down the only hallway none of the others had taken. "Shall we?"

* * *

><p>Much like the rest of the floor, Bellatrix seemed to have made a royal mess of the bedroom Andromeda led her into. Both witches stood in the door for a moment, each staring at the senseless destruction, wondering where they would find the energy to repair it into something livable. "Damn Bellatrix," Andromeda muttered. "Damn her and damn Kingsley and damn the Wizengamot. Here," she added, apparently non sequitur, digging around in the small bag she'd been carrying all day. "I meant to give this to you this morning, but I'm afraid with all the chaos I forgot."<p>

She finally found what she was looking for, presenting Hermione with slender stick of pale, polished wood. "Vine," Andromeda said, handing it over. "Dragon heartstring, ten and three-quarters inches." Hermione held it reverently. The wand had no obvious handle, yet the delicate spiral clearly tapered at the casting end, and it fit near perfectly in her hand, her first and second fingers locked on either side of the subtle ridging. It felt sturdier, too, despite its delicate nature. "It's a bit old," Andromeda continued. "When I brought in your broken one, the charm the apprentice used to activate your magical signature and attract a new wand didn't seem to work at all, but Ollivander himself came out of the storage room with a shaking box." She looked into Hermione's eyes. "He made it eight years ago."

Hermione was momentarily stunned by the implications, but managed to say, "Thank you. Thank you so much." Her voice nearly trembled with gratitude. The wand meant so much more to her than merely a replacement for something broken. It meant protection in a way Andromeda herself could never provide. In this world, it meant self-sufficiency, independence, and the ability to stare Bellatrix Black in the eyes down in the kitchens without fearing for her life. It also put her that much more into Andromeda's debt, but the warmth in those eyes made it impossible to feel regret.

"As always, you're quite welcome," Andromeda replied, and the heated glint Hermione saw in the other witch's eyes brought a flush to her cheeks.

They began working side-by-side, charming away dust and repairing the abused furniture. "Why did your sister do this?" Hermione asked at one point. "Target practice?"

Andromeda chuckled. "Quite possible, actually."

Another pile of clutter was banished.

"And… the fire?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

Andromeda stopped cleaning for a moment, clearly weighing her words. "The fire… was many things. But in the end, all of them merely come down to one."

When Andromeda didn't immediately elaborate, Hermione spoke again. "What sort of one?"

"She's Bellatrix. She doesn't need a reason to do anything."

The simmering anger in Andromeda's tone made Hermione shiver.

* * *

><p>Quickly enough, the room resembled a bedroom rather than a warzone, though they had ignored the various gouges in the floor and walls in favor of repairing the essentials.<p>

The essentials included one chair, one bed, and one table, as well as the bathroom Andromeda had disappeared to take care of while Hermione finished up in the main chambers.

Andromeda only popped back in long enough to say she was taking a quick shower, and Hermione was trying to not think about the etiquette required to ask whether she should be attempting to transfigure something into a second bed or just summon a blanket and pass out on the floor. Instead, she summoned up a particular shade of cleansing charm in her mind and cast it on herself, unwilling to remain this filthy even long enough to wait for a real shower. A second charm took care of the state of her clothes, and she hung her cloak over the back of the single chair. Glancing mournfully at the state of the dress she had worn on their date, even as charmed-clean as it was, she proceeded to slump backwards onto the bed, planning to just shut her eyes for a moment… just until Andromeda finished up… just for a moment… just a few… just…

She was woken by the feeling of another person sliding into the bed from the far side. She rolled over slowly, blinking heavily at Andromeda's sleep-blurred face. She started to sit up, clearing her throat to apologize, but Andromeda gently tugged her back down. "Shhh," she whispered. "It's alright. Go back to sleep."

Hermione was too exhausted to resist as those gentle hands steered her back onto her side, facing the wall. Andromeda tugged up the covers, and the last thing Hermione felt before passing out once again was a warm body settling along the curve of her spine, an arm pulling taut about her waist, and the rhythmic pulse of calm, even breath against the back of her neck.

* * *

><p><strong>AN for the chapter:** Alright then. I'm sure you're all rather tired of my apologies; I am too. Every bit it hurts you guys when I don't update, it hurts me just as much that I haven't been able to write. When my life is hectic to the point of being unable to do my absolute favorite thing, I am not a happy camper. But I suppose I owe you a brief word of explanation: I'm a senior in high school. I also spend half of each day taking classes at a local college, and I've taken up a position as a stage manager for our theatre department, and the new director hasn't a clue what she's doing, so I'm doing basically her whole job. I'm drowning in the college application process, completely unsure what I want to do with my life, and basically wishing I could just sit at home all day and write fanfiction. Unfortunately, fanfiction won't ever pay the bills, and I've wasted the majority of my life being spoon-fed the "If you're smart you'll do math and science until the day you die!" philosophy and I have yet to figure out how to escape that particularly vicious cycle, so when life is as maddening as it has been these past few months, I can't write. How's that for the rant of the century? Since when do I talk about my personal life on fanfiction? Well this is a first. Ah well.

I may appear to abandon you, but I haven't! I swear it! I'm still here, seeing all your beautiful reviews, reading as your PMs go from excited, to worried, to desperate. I completely understand if you would rather not keep following this story: I'm sure I wouldn't. I as a writer am a prime example of why I as a reader can't stand reading works-in-progress. Updates are going to be infrequent at best, at least until I've gotten out at least a few college applications, but I'll do the best I can, and that's the best I can offer.

This chapter is rather shorter than my usual minimum, and quite possibly disappointing, as I wrote it all in a single afternoon, and quite certainly disappointing after waiting four months for it, but I was dying for a little escapism and I missed you all terribly, so here, my meager offering.

Finally, a quick shout-out to laxbabe3, a fellow fanfiction connoisseur and the very first person I've ever told in real life about my… writing hobby. I wanted to thank her for being so wonderfully supportive about it, and let her know that she ought to publish her fic already! We've got to hang out in Panera soon.

All of my readers are wonderful, and I adore each and every one of you who hasn't given up on me.

All the best,

- Zarrene.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Andromeda, Hermione/Narcissa.

* * *

><p>If not for the sun poking at her from beyond her eyelids, Hermione wasn't sure she'd have ever woken up. Everything was warm, her limbs leaden with sleep, another pair of legs gently entwined with her own…<p>

_Another pair of legs!? _

Startling awake, her eyes quickly focused on Andromeda's smile. She was already quite awake, her head propped up on one elbow, gazing down at Hermione with the sweetest, most unassuming smile she'd ever seen on the woman. Her hair was falling across one side of her face and spilling onto the pillow on the other, mingling with the morning light which the shredded curtains did little to deter. "Hello," she murmured, reaching down and tucking a strand of hair behind Hermione's ear.

Hermione blushed at the tender gesture, feeling disoriented but impossibly content. "Good morning," she said back, voice rasping with the passage of sleep. She found herself more than a bit self-conscious. Her hair must be a fright, always impossibly bushy when cleaned with magic, not to mention the state of her dreadfully wrinkled dress, nothing she would ever normally sleep in. She began to untangle her legs from Andromeda's, only then noticing that the other witch had slept in only a short, silken robe which must have escaped Bellatrix's wrath in the bathroom.

She tugged insecurely at her dress, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles and escape the startlingly electric feeling of her bare legs slipping free from where they had lain between Andromeda's. "I'm sorry," she started to say, feet pushing insistently at the covers which had somehow managed to only entrap her ankles, leaving the rest of her nearly bare. "I – ah – didn't mean to steal your bed." She started to sit up. To her continued astonishment, the other witch didn't make any attempt to rise. Instead, she chuckled at Hermione's antics and, without further ado, tugged her back down beside her and stole a quick peck on the lips.

"Don't you ever stop apologizing?" she asked lightly, face hovering inches above the younger woman. Gone was the weighty mood of the previous evening, replaced by a quite playful Andromeda and a bemused Hermione.

"Sorry, I—" Hermione started, then blinked, realizing what she was doing. She bit off an apology for the apology for the apology only with considerable effort. "Oops."

Andromeda laughed brightly, turning Hermione towards her so they could lie face-to-face. "You're precious," she murmured, leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on the tip of Hermione nose.

Hermione couldn't help but think that she wouldn't mind waking up like this more often.

Andromeda sighed, gently tugging Hermione's head down into the crook of her neck. "I suppose you had the right idea; we really ought to get up. Narcissa's a bit of a control freak. I'm sure this situation is driving her up a wall but… I'd rather not deal with it at the moment."

Hermione quite agreed. It was a luxury she hadn't often had, being able to see a problem looming on the horizon and just choosing not to deal with it. Every time she made the decision to put something off, it wasn't just herself she would deprive of some needed thing; it would be her mum and dad, too. Now, however, Andromeda could make the decision for her, could keep them warm and languid and tucked away in this little corner of the world. Curled up like this, Hermione felt small, but with Andromeda next to her, she couldn't imagine anything would dare interfere.

Then, memories of every other intimate moment she'd shared with this particular sister pierced the happy, half-asleep bubble she was luxuriating in, reminding her just how often their interactions ended badly. Being summoned by Patronus to find their home half destroyed was about all the proof needed to show her just how illusory this sense of safety was.

Andromeda seemed to sense the change in Hermione's mood, turning her hand to run soothing fingers through her sleep-destroyed hair. "It's always something with you, isn't it?" The words were said teasingly, but there was a hint of sorrow beneath them. "Something's happening in that mind of yours that won't let you enjoy a peaceful moment."

Hermione tried to relax, tried to convince her mind to sleep in a bit longer, but she found her thoughts stuck instead on yesterday… on the end of their date.

"Can… can I ask you something?"

"I suppose it would be cliché to say, 'You just did,' so yes, of course."

Hermione smiled weakly. "The hawk, your sister's Patronus?"

Andromeda waited for Hermione to continue, but when the pause threatened to stretch into perpetuity, she prompted, "Yes?"

Hermione pulled her head up, looking down into Andromeda's eyes as she mused, "I thought – I can't remember where I heard it – but I thought Death Eaters couldn't conjure a Patronus."

"My sister was _never_ a Death Eater," Andy hissed, startling Hermione with the vehemence of her denial.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Hermione was quick to placate her. "I suppose I thought… because of Lucius…"

Andromeda sighed and shook her head, tugging Hermione down once again. "Thankfully, no. It takes the Mark to make a true Death Eater, and even then, there were a few who broke that rule. A few Death Eaters still had enough happiness in their soul to conjure the silver… or at least one that I knew of. The late Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Hermione blinked, struggling to connect the dots from what she had read in the newspapers and overheard at the Ministry during that time. Somehow, Voldemort's reign seemed impossibly distant, like a bad dream. "Headmaster Snape?" she asked. "I never heard much about him other than at the end, some column debating whose side he had really been on at different points in history."

Andromeda shrugged. "Harry says it was always ours, and for me, that's the end of it. To be honest, if I weren't still living under the same roof as a constant reminder of those strange years, I would rather just… stop dwelling on it. The past is the past and all that."

There was silence, then, each witch lost in her own thoughts of just how incredible it could be to throw out years of unhappiness in exchange for some simple, peaceful life.

A knock on the door brought an end to fantasy, Lucius calling out, "If you plan on lounging around all day, I need someone to go down and tell the bloody contractors that I can sign off on their work so far."

Andromeda sighed, reluctantly pulling away from the center of the bed and sitting up. "You can't sign off on anything, Lucius. You don't own the property."

A derisive sniff could be heard from the other side of the door, and Hermione supposed she was glad he hadn't just decided to barge in. "I'm quite aware. It was merely an offer of… assistance."

"Assistance my ass," Andromeda murmured, just loud enough for Hermione to hear. "I'll be right down," she added at a more carrying volume.

They both slipped out of bed as Lucius's footsteps and unintelligible grumbling faded down the hallway. "Should I go with you?" Hermione asked as Andromeda snatched up her wand and quickly transfigured her robe into a fabric more suitable for public.

"Hmm?" Andromeda muttered as she slipped on the shoes she'd worn yesterday. "Oh, no, this should only take maybe fifteen minutes." She glanced over at Hermione, chuckling as her eyes took in the state of the younger witch's hair. "Something tells me you would enjoy a shower more than a discourse on the pros and cons of reconstruction versus remodeling."

Feeling her fingers getting stuck in every direction as she attempted to pat down her hair, Hermione bit her lip and nodded. Andromeda smiled at her, stepping closer and capturing her lips in a quick but thorough kiss. "Don't miss me too much," she said with a smile, and then she was gone.

Hermione was quickly coming to the conclusion that Andromeda was a truly remarkable kisser. Granted, her prior experience was rather limited, but she was pretty sure she could make a call on this by now.

* * *

><p>Even after a luxuriously long shower and a deliberate transfiguration of her poor, abused dress, Andromeda had yet to return, so Hermione decided she may as well wander. After all, it wasn't as though Andromeda had told her to stay put, and now that she had a brand new wand, exploring some of the places she hadn't seen suddenly seemed much less daunting than it had on her first unfortunate visit.<p>

Roving through the halls which so closely mirrored those now burned away below them, Hermione didn't discover all that much. Unlike the lower floors, many of these doors were locked, and other hallways had been turned into dead-ends by piles of broken furniture. She found one entirely unexplored hallway, but hearing Narcissa's voice raised and berating an indignantly responding Lucius sent her scurrying off around the corner, still unwilling to put herself in the midst of whatever storm was constantly building between those two.

She paused when she realized where she now was. This hallway was familiar; dark even though lit by torches, still windowless, still carpeted by tatters of once-gaudy fabric and framed by walls heavy with unoccupied portraits. This was the heart of Bellatrix's domain.

Though hesitant, the fact that Hermione couldn't imagine anything worse happening now than had happened last time made her bold, and she started down the hall with confidant – albeit very, _very_ quiet – footsteps. That particular door was already open, no less strange than her last welcome, though perhaps a bit less eerie. She walked past on tiptoe, almost holding her breath, but the room seemed empty as she peered in, the fire unlit.

Hermione sped up once she had moved past Bellatrix's chambers, continuing to the end of the hall and turning a corner to find a small alcove with a tall, thin window. She pulled back the slightly musty curtain keeping the daylight out. Peering down over the grounds, she spotted her pitiful attempt at resurrecting the vegetable garden, wondering aimlessly if this was the curtain she had looked up at a scant week earlier. Remembering that moment, a chill ran down her spine, and she let the curtain fall back into place, starting back towards the hall where she had last heard Narcissa's voice.

Walking past Bellatrix's rooms once again, Hermione felt an echo of the last time she'd been here. No magic, no compulsion, just a ghostly déjà vu, a lingering pull that battled with the fear she still felt. She managed to walk past, but stopped just on the other side of the door. _It's empty,_ a little devil on her shoulder seemed to taunt. _You've walked by twice and haven't heard so much as a rustle. _Slowly, she turned back, stepping closer, peering around the doorframe. When nothing happened, she felt a rush of confidence, that giddy, heady rush of _getting away with something_, doing something she shouldn't. Slowly, quietly, she stepped into the room.

She could see a bit better now that she was inside, as the torch-lit hallway had made peering into the unlit chambers somewhat tricky. Hermione took in the room more fully… now that she wasn't in immediate danger of her life. The fireplace dominated one wall, the floor around it dusted and scarred with ash and soot stains from fires long since extinguished. There was a dark, canopied bed pressed into the corner opposite the door, but the curtains were drawn back and tied at each post, and it was clearly empty. In fact, the sheets were neatly tucked at the head, the blanket folded at the foot, the pillows perfectly symmetrical and unmarred by any hint of a head or elbow; it seemed that no one had slept there at all.

Just as she was about to turn towards the next wall, Hermione caught a glimpse of something just behind her, tucked into that single patch of room which she hadn't been able to see from the hall.

When she realized what she was seeing, she couldn't help but gasp, quickly covering her mouth and biting her own hand in an attempt to keep silent. There, perched haphazardly on a thinly cushioned armchair, Bellatrix was still sleeping.

Heart pounding, Hermione stood frozen, but when it was apparent her squeak hadn't woken the sleeping witch, she slowly lowered her hands, forcing her breathing to slow.

_That can't possibly be comfortable_, Hermione thought, trying to make sense of the painfully crooked posture, one foot tucked up into the folds of blanket draped over her, the other peeking out where it rested on the floor. Her spine seemed impossibly rigid, too straight for any semblance of comfortable rest, yet her head was tipped sideways against the cushioned side of the chair's backing, eyes closed, face more relaxed than Hermione could have thought possible. If not for a pained furrow in her brow, Bellatrix could have looked almost peaceful in that moment, yet even in the dim light from the torches in the hall, Hermione could just see the shadowy ridges of pupils twitching behind her eyelids, her right hand clutching that crooked wand in a death grip on the armrest of the chair. Bellatrix looked haunted.

Realizing how long she had been frozen there, Hermione began to ease her way back towards the door, carefully starting to tug her wand from her sleeve. Just a few steps from safety, one of the floorboards betrayed her with a long, low _creeeaaak. _

In a flash, Bellatrix was awake, eyes wild and entirely vacant of humanity, wand raised and pointed directly at Hermione before her head even turned to see who had dared disturb her rest. _"Crucio!"_

Hermione couldn't move, couldn't run, couldn't breathe, paralyzed and waiting for the pain she knew must follow that word. Yet when a single scream pierced the air, it wasn't she who had uttered it.

Bellatrix had crumpled to the floor, the blanket pooled around her knees. She was gasping, teeth clenched, wand lying forgotten beside her as she clawed at her own forearm.

"No, no, _no!_" she rasped out, practically hissing the word through her teeth. The black robe which covered her arm bunched at her elbow, allowing Hermione a glimpse of black and red between Bellatrix's fingers.

Hermione stared, uncomprehending, at the ravages of Bellatrix's arm. Blood dripped from a single fresh red line amid a multitude of black ones, piled up one over another up and down her arms like tattooed railroad tracks engraved in her skin… like tally marks. Even as she watched, the newest cut began to blacken, as though the blood itself had been set on fire and turned to charcoal before her eyes.

The sheer animal pain in that woman's expression finally freed Hermione's scared-stiff form. Something was wrong, something horrible was happening and she couldn't just stand there and watch her bleed. Already standing far too close for her own comfort, Hermione allowed herself to slowly kneel beside the form on the floor. "Can I help?" she whispered.

"No!" Bellatrix hissed again, piercing Hermione with a glare of pure fury. The younger woman flinched back.

"What h-happened?"

Finally, the cut had visibly healed, if the blackened line left behind could ever be called "healed". Bellatrix seemed to gather herself, the tension in her body still showing unspeakable pain, but regaining a degree of her strength. She let go of the blackened wrist, shoving it towards Hermione, letting her see the ravages of flesh just inches from her face. "This? You want to know what _this _is? _You_ did this, you filthy Mudblood."

As Hermione flinched away, Bellatrix drew back her arm, a dark laugh cutting through the air. "You and them and everyone else who called themselves the _good ones_."

"I don't understand," Hermione said softly, part of her wanting to run but more of her wanting to understand.

Bellatrix laughed again, and there was more pain in that sound than Hermione had ever heard before. "These are my chains, girl," she growled. "This arm—" she held out the same wrist once again, "—is for torture. This one—" she swapped hands, yanking back her other sleeve and revealing similar black scars, "—is for control. And if you could see my back, you'd know just how many I've _killed_."

Hermione was stunned, trying to piece together what she was seeing and hearing but unable to find any logical answer.

"They took away that magic from me…" Bellatrix continued, staring down at her own arms, lost somewhere in her own world, not even seeming to see Hermione there in front of her anymore. "They _laughed_ when they came up with it, those Ministry bastards._ We'll brand her with her crimes. One mark for every Unforgivable Curse she ever used. _But that couldn't be the end of it… no… they weren't satisfied. _Let's see how many times she breaks_, they said. _Let's see her _try_ not to use Unforgivables. _ _And just in case she _fucks up! _We'll make sure she can't forget it." _

Hermione felt sick. "That… the _Ministry_ did that to you? That's… that's inhumane, that's…"

When Hermione spoke, Bellatrix fell silent, slowly raising her head as she seemed to remember that she wasn't alone. "That's _justice_," she spat, but there was little venom in it now, and even though it seemed most of the pain had gone, her eyes looked dead.

For a moment, Hermione completely forgot herself. Staring down at the brutality before her, she reached out, reflexively, and took one of Bellatrix's hands in hers – _this one is for the Imperius Curse, _she realized vaguely – and gently traced her thumb across the faintest of the lines, those just across the pulse point. "All this for spells you can't take back and spells you can't even cast?" she whispered to herself. Suddenly, she realized what she was doing and froze, slowly looking up while still cradling the wrist of Bellatrix Black in her hands.

The witch was staring at her, the expression on her face one of abject shock. Bellatrix looked stunned, confused, and… lost. In a moment of illumination, Hermione realized that this was quite possibly the first time in decades that someone besides her sisters had touched her for any other purpose than to inflict pain. _It's a bit like petting a feral animal,_ Hermione mused, reminding herself, _no sudden moves. _Slowly, she lifted her thumb from the blackened veins, setting down the wrist and pulling back. Bellatrix remained frozen, staring at her with that same wary confusion, as though waiting for the betrayal, waiting for a slap or a curse or fifty years in Azkaban. Instead, Hermione said, "I'm sorry."

Heart in her throat, Hermione stood, still moving slowly, afraid to provoke whatever burst of energy was sure to follow Bellatrix's stillness, but she backed from the room uncontested, no curse or cry of _"Mudblood" _broke the silence, and no footsteps followed her down the hall.

* * *

><p>She meant to ask Andromeda more about it, but between all the hassle of trying to rebuild, her mishap with the oldest sister never quite seemed to work its way into the conversation. Andromeda had met her in their temporarily shared room just a few minutes after she returned, and since the other woman looked as frazzled as Hermione felt, she decided mentioning that odd little encounter might best be saved for a calmer moment.<p>

Of course, somewhere in the back of her mind, she couldn't help but remember just how harsh Andromeda's reaction had been to their last encounter, and if whatever had transpired between the two sisters had actually led to the house burning down, she wasn't sure she wanted to be the cause of any further grievance. After all, she hadn't been hurt this time, and she had… well… learned something new. For all the Ministry's claims of superiority for not killing their criminals, they sure had a dark streak to match their lofty ideals. Cursing a woman to bleed and scar every time she lashed out in fear was… harsh to say the least. If would be one thing if the tallies were meant as some sort of rehabilitation, meant to remind her never to use her power that way again, but since she had no hope of ever being reintegrated with the rest of the world, since there was no danger of her ever misusing the spells again, those torturous marks ended up being nothing more than punitive.

It haunted Hermione all day as she went about carrying messages between Andromeda and Narcissa as they struggled to agree on how best to work with the contractors when one of the two had to be upstairs at all times. Dashing in and around the mess of empty flooring and cluttered stairwells, her mind kept returning to those brutalized wrists. It felt different from the rest of Bellatrix's punishment. There was certainly a need for keeping her confined, and even the alarm trigger whenever she went somewhere she was not supposed to be served a purpose in keeping everyone safe. The particular bonds on her magic were, again, a safety precaution, something to make Andromeda's role here as jail keeper more bearable. But _this_? This medieval cruelty? Burning her alive every time she made a mistake, branding her forever for her crimes as a death eater? It seemed so… childish, so vigilante. And the way Bellatrix had reacted to it… the way a woman who hadn't so much as flinched at burning herself in the kitchen fire just yesterday… the pain they must have put into that curse would probably have _crippled_ anyone else. Hermione shuddered as that single cry of pain seemed to echo in the air around her.

* * *

><p>After the third meal the house-elves delivered from Diagon, Hermione once more found herself in the chambers Andromeda had claimed for them. Unsure how to broach the topic of sleeping arrangements now that she wasn't tired enough to accidentally pass out on the bed, it wasn't until each of them had already showered off the grime of a destroyed building and changed into the temporary nightwear Andromeda had purchased that Hermione managed to ask, "I, um, I know I fell asleep here yesterday but should I… should I go somewhere else? Make another bed?"<p>

Already reclining against the pillows, Andromeda arched an eyebrow. "Do you _want_ to sleep somewhere else?"

Hermione blushed, stammering, "I – no – I mean… I don't want to..." she paused, tongue-tied for a moment as Andromeda tugged aside the sheets next to her and patted the mattress, "… presume anything," she finished dully.

Andromeda smiled, sitting up and physically tugging Hermione down beside her. "Enough, you. Sleep."

Just like that, Hermione found herself once more curled up against this witch – this woman – she had only known for a short time, and feeling more at home than she ever had anywhere else.

* * *

><p>It was starting to look like a building again. All the outer walls were back and clean, and even the most blackened of the inner chambers were – though still mostly empty – at least no longer charred. Narcissa spent most of the day downstairs avoiding Lucius, leaving Andromeda to insist on resuming Hermione's lessons.<p>

It was _wonderful_, her new wand. She _connected_ with it. It wasn't just the bit of wood that the spells came out of, no; it felt like part of her. It was as though a barrier had been taken away in her spell casting, some wall between her magic and the world, and things which had once required concentration and determination now came effortlessly. Not everything, of course. She still wasn't casting at nearly the level she could have been if she'd gone to school, but Andromeda continued to praise her unbound work, looking positively ecstatic with the new degree of success the wand allowed.

With little else to do, Andromeda spent almost the entire day teaching her, pausing only for an occasional update from Narcissa or a bite to eat. Once, close to dusk, Hermione caught sight of Bellatrix watching them from the shadows, directly in her line of vision but hidden from Andromeda. Bellatrix didn't seem to realize Hermione had spotted her, gaze focused on the last place sparks of magic had just vanished, and the oddest expression had taken over the eldest Black's face. Her eyes were narrowed; contemplative, yet her nose seemed crinkled with distaste. Eventually, they made eye contact, and Bellatrix faded away into the shadows.

Hermione didn't see her again that day.

* * *

><p>Waking up beside Andromeda on the third morning in their upstairs room felt a bit too… natural. She was getting used to this, to falling asleep wrapped up in warm arms and waking to a gentle kiss and soft conversation. It was too easy, being with Andromeda. Almost too easy to feel real. Being thrown into this particular stage of a relationship by circumstance was interesting to say the least, because falling into the pattern of sleeping and waking together felt like… skipping a few steps.<p>

Still, the work was scheduled to be finished midafternoon, everything still protected in storage would return by dusk, and then everything would be back to normal. Or, at least, whatever semblance of normal existed in this household.

Whenever Hermione was left alone, she felt… she felt old. It wasn't any single thing she could put her finger on, but for as long as she could remember, silence and lack of contact seemed to age her beyond her years. Oftentimes, even when there was noise and bustle all around her – at her job at the Ministry, or as a child at the Inn – she would still be the invisible one, and it made her tired.

That was what made this new life so impossible to turn away, more than anything. Andromeda made her feel like she would never be alone again. Even now, sitting alone, waiting to hear footsteps return to their room and tell her she could start bringing things back downstairs, she knew that Andromeda would be back, would walk in, carrying with her a presence as clear and fresh as a draught from the fountain of youth, and Hermione could feel herself flush with the waiting, heady as honeysuckle wine.

In the end, everything took a bit longer than expected, the final Magical Maintenance van not leaving the drive until well past dark, but the house was back to normal.

As Hermione finished bringing her few belongings down from the third floor, she stared once more up from the landing. She could practically feel it, that veil of secrecy descending once more between where she stood and Bellatrix's corner of the world. She had been granted a brief glimpse into it; now she was being locked out again. Though she'd only seen her two times, she had an eerie feeling that Bellatrix had been watching far more often that Hermione had caught her, and couldn't help but wonder if the third sister would miss all the constant commotion… or would she be glad to be left to her own devices once again?

* * *

><p>After those three nights with Andy, three stunningly intimate yet perfectly chaste nights, Hermione could hardly sleep a wink downstairs. Her room was almost exactly the same as before, the bed just as comfortable, the sheets just as soft, but it was no longer <em>warm<em>, not the way Andromeda's arms had been. She missed that closeness at a soul-deep level, a place she could hardly understand but felt in every part of her. She tossed and turned for hours, visions of burning buildings and blackened arms dancing in the darkness every time she closed her eyes.

Andromeda noticed her exhaustion the next morning, reaching out and stroking her cheek when she found her drinking tea in the kitchen. "Why so tired?"

Hermione tried to brush it aside with a feeble attempt at humor. "Haven't you heard it's not polite to tell a woman she looks bad?"

Andromeda sat beside her, reaching out to take the teacup from her hands and set it back on its saucer. Leaning in, she gave Hermione a quick kiss, just a feather-light brush of lips, followed by a soft murmur of, "You can look beautiful and exhausted at the same time."

Hermione flushed with embarrassed pleasure.

"If it makes you feel better," Andromeda continued, "I didn't have my best night, either."

She was staring directly into Hermione's eyes. It was clear to the younger witch that those words were an invitation; an invitation to acknowledge why she slept so badly, an invitation that said Andromeda would welcome her if she would only admit that she needed her.

"I missed you," Hermione whispered, casting her eyes down towards the table.

"Glad to know I'm not the only one," came the soft reply.

Hermione's chambers were empty that night.

* * *

><p>Fall courted winter so subtly that the change snuck up on the unsuspecting occupants of Black Manor, settling over the house in a blanket of heavy snow and forcing the elves to scurry about at all hours to keep the fires running.<p>

The interactions of the occupants had changed as subtly as the weather since the fire, yet everyone seemed to be willing to ignore all but the dynamics they themselves were part of.

Lucius and Narcissa hadn't spoken one word to each other since the return to their own rooms, as far as Hermione could tell. Instead, Narcissa spent more time in the library than Hermione, though she still tried to make time for a spot of cleaning and a moment of companionable reading when she could. It didn't feel as simple anymore, their strange connection over literature which allowed the two to ignore the differences in all other aspects of their lives. Now that Narcissa was aware that her sister was seeing the young witch, the conversation often died before it could begin, leaving only the quiet turning of pages and a tension that made it difficult to ignore wandering thoughts and follow the words instead.

It took Hermione a few days to convince herself that spending every night in Andromeda's bed wasn't practical for either their working or educational relationship, and it took her a few days more to convince Andromeda of it. When she first mentioned going back to her own rooms, Andromeda responded with a degree of blatant seduction; kisses almost bruising in their intensity, hands slipping down her sides and hips pressing her against the nearest wall, eyes bright and intent, daring Hermione to push her further, to make her lose control.

She almost did. She wanted to. Despite the reluctance she still felt nearly every other moment of the day, the reluctance Andromeda seemed to sense and fully respect, she nearly gave in to the pure heat of that daring second.

"Andy?" she managed to squeak out, knowing that the rare shortening of her name would get her the instant of attention she needed.

Those impossibly desirable lips quirked to the side, fingertips gently ghosting up her arms to drift across a cheekbone and cup her face. "Hmm?" Andromeda hummed, questioning.

Hermione used the pause to turn and press a kiss to the other woman's palm, a curl falling into her eyes. "Nothing. I – nothing."

It had worked, changing the dynamic from one of passion to one of tenderness, and Andromeda has the tact to look mildly embarrassed by how strongly she had been coming on to the younger woman.

Since talking hadn't changed anything, Hermione took a chance and didn't return that night, sleeping back in her own rooms. Andromeda took the hint, and gave her time.

Their lessons continued uninterrupted, however, and the things Hermione learned, the ways in which her magic grew, convinced her that, no matter how strange things had become, she had made the right choice.

* * *

><p>It was neither Andromeda, nor Narcissa, however, with whom Hermione's relationship changed the most. Where once Bellatrix had been a silent shadow somewhere above her head, now she was a near constant presence on the lower floors. The first time Bellatrix had come downstairs, Andromeda had reacted to the alert immediately, but when she started spending less and less time on the third floor and didn't seem to be doing any damage, Andromeda stopped responding and let her be.<p>

Once she was no longer being babysat by her younger sister on each of her visits, Bellatrix started finding Hermione alone.

"Hello, pet," became a common greeting each morning when Hermione walked into the kitchen. The first few times she found Bellatrix leaning against a counter or table, waiting for her in the unlit room, Hermione had been scared near out of her skin. Her first startled yelp seemed to give Bellatrix some strange pleasure, but when her mere presence was no longer enough to terrify the young woman, Bellatrix changed her game. Where once she would leave after the first moment, laughing maniacally as she waltzed from the room, soon she began to linger, watching Hermione with eerie intensity, waiting until the most inopportune moment to stand and leave, often accompanying her departure with a lilting, haunting warning such as, "Watch those knives, Mudblood."

She thought about going to Andromeda, letting her know what was going on, but ever since that day, kneeling on the floor beside the scarred, broken woman who hid beneath Bellatrix's cruelty, Hermione had felt a strange fascination towards her. Beyond that, the kitchen was _her_ space, _her_ domain, the piece of this house in which she felt the most comfortable. Ever since she had stopped spending the night in Andromeda's room, the older witch had stopped seeking Hermione out in the kitchens as well, offering her a working space of much needed peace. Just when the small, practical room was beginning to feel like a space that _belonged_ to her, Bellatrix had decided to mess that up, and Hermione knew, she just _knew_, that going to Andromeda and complaining would be admitting defeat.

Bellatrix's taunts did not stay passive for long. Where once, it felt as though the eldest sister was simply messing with her for her own amusement, it soon became clear that there was something much darker going on. She began actively taunting Hermione, her warnings changing to those of a more personal nature, insisting that if she stayed any longer in this house, she was going to die. It wasn't a subtle message.

Still, through every taunt, every Mudblood slur, every threat of harm or death, Hermione was able to just… ignore her. There was no point in trying to engage her in conversation, she had quickly learned, but if she went about her tasks as though there were no one else present, Bellatrix would eventually give up… leave. It was a peculiar battle of wills, and as long as Hermione didn't react, she felt she was winning.

Eventually, though, she was bound to lose.

* * *

><p>It was a bad morning, a mix of sleet and hail keeping her awake as the ice threatened to pound its way through not only Hermione's window, but her skull as well. She was exhausted, she had a headache, and Bellatrix was sitting behind her playing with a knife and muttering, "Don't you ever worry what will happen to your poor parents when you <em>die <em>here?"

Finally losing her temper, Hermione spun around and cried, "Don't you like to do _anything_ besides torture people?"

Bellatrix looked startled, eyes narrowing. "No," she said flatly, but Hermione could hear an odd uncertainty in that single word that intrigued her.

"No?" she asked cautiously, setting down the pan she was drying. "Did you _ever_ like anything else?"

Bellatrix glowered and scoffed. "If you're trying to ask me if I played with dolls when I was a little kiddie pure-blood, I used to torture those, too."

It wasn't a surprising vision. The impression Hermione had gotten of this witch over the past few weeks was – when not entirely terrifying – a childish one. Her taunts often reminded Hermione of a child desperately trying to get more attention, and it was an image which had helped to chase away some of the healthy degree of fear she still had for the clearly unstable woman.

Still, an odd, pained look crossed Bellatrix's face after that brief pause. "I used to plant stuff," she said, voice soft for a heartbeat. "Then I ate half the gardener, and that was the end of that."

Hermione's jaw dropped, appalled. "You _what?"_

Bellatrix cackled outright. "Ooh, scared the girl with that one, did I?" She paused, her expression growing thoughtful. "If you come upstairs, pet, I could tell you a story…"

Unsurprisingly, Hermione refused.

Later, though, the image wouldn't leave Hermione alone. _I ate half the gardener_. Her first thought was _werewolf_, but it didn't take long to talk herself out of that one. Even on the full moon, the third floor was as eerily silent as ever. She took her second thought to Andromeda.

"Have you ever wanted to be an Animagus?" she asked at the end of their next lesson.

A shadow seemed to cross Andromeda's face, but she shook her head with a smile. "No, it never really held any particular draw for me."

"What about your sisters?" she pressed, hoping for a bit more.

Slowly, Andromeda nodded. "Bellatrix. She's a crow, now. She wasn't always, but Azkaban changed her."

"A _crow_?" Hermione asked skeptically.

Andromeda chuckled weakly. "Yes, I know, not a particularly regal creature, but it is a proud one; sneaky, sleek, intelligent… likes shiny things and dead people."

Despite the morbid nature of the words, Hermione couldn't contain a burst of laughter. "Oh, Merlin, that really shouldn't be funny but…"

"It's too accurate not to be, hmm?"

Before Hermione had a chance to ask what Bellatrix had been before that, before "Azkaban changed her," Andromeda had quickly steered her back to the lesson, and it was clear the subject was closed. Still, knowing that Bellatrix could, indeed, become an animal at will added a new degree to her suspicions about the gardener's demise. It also only furthered her curiosity.

* * *

><p>Just at the start of December, Andromeda went away for a week.<p>

"It's Ted's birthday, and I… I feel like I should spend it with his family," she explained a few days before her departure. "They're Muggles, mostly, so I have to travel a bit more carefully, but I'll be back as soon as I can."

It was an odd feeling for Hermione, thinking about Andromeda's dead husband and daughter. It wasn't entirely unusual in wizarding culture for those who lost a partner to entirely remake their lives, as the aging process between twenty and sixty was always either belated and abrupt or hardly noticeable, but picturing that earlier life made Hermione uncomfortable. To keep herself occupied, she spent more and more time in the library, doing research.

Ever since Andromeda had revealed that Bellatrix was an Animagus, it had become a topic of some fascination for Hermione, though the readings she found about the process were rather dry and often filled with dire warnings about the level of skill needed to accomplish it. The phrase "_do not attempt without the presence and tutelage of a licensed, Ministry-registered Animagi instructor" _was pretty firmly drilled into her head.

Still, one text was discussing the connection between Animagus form and Patronus, so Hermione found herself eying Narcissa's arrival in the library with some degree of interest. Narcissa noticed, setting aside her own book before joining Hermione in the chair opposite. "Why on earth are you staring at me like that?" she asked.

Hermione offered an embarrassed smile. "Sorry, ma'am, I was just… thinking."

"Oh?"

It was the most words they had exchanged in quite some time, and Hermione grasped on to the hope that, with Andromeda away, Narcissa might grow less cold towards her again. "I was… remembering and… wondering about casting a Patronus."

Narcissa's response both stunned and pleased her. "I could teach you, if you'd like. It's well within your range of ability."

"Really?" Hermione asked, almost afraid to sound too hopeful.

Narcissa looked mildly amused. "Certainly. All it takes is a happy memory."

"Really?" Hermione asked again, realizing too late she was starting to sound like a broken record. "I know they were designed for use by wizards who worked closely with dementors, and I've seen them used to send messages, but I don't know much else."

Narcissa nodded, shrugging her cloak off her shoulders and picking up her wand. "It's the closest you can find to a spell that's made of pure good will. Hope, joy, love… the very things that keep us wanting to live." She gave Hermione an appraising look. "It may be difficult depending on what sort of mood you're in now. It only works if you concentrate everything you have within you on one happy moment. Watch."

The wand motion was simple, and Hermione watched as Narcissa said firmly, _"Expecto patronum!"_ There is was, that lovely silver hawk, dancing from the tip of Narcissa's wand and soaring up towards the library ceiling, illuminating the swirls of dust with the trail of glowing light left in its path.

Hermione wondered if it wasn't the most beautiful thing she'd seen in her life.

"I'll be impressed if you even manage an incorporeal Patronus on your first few attempts, so don't be disappointed if you can't make an animal for several days. Do you have the incantation?"

Hermione nodded, repeating, "_Expecto patronum" _once under her breath before saying it loud enough for Narcissa to hear.

"Good. And a memory?"

Again, Hermione nodded, thinking immediately of the first time Andromeda kissed her. She tried not to blush.

"Let's see, then."

_"Expecto patronum,"_ she tried, flicking her wand. Nothing. "_Expecto patronum!"_ She dug herself into the memory, remembering the rush of joy she had felt. _"Expecto patronum!"_

Frowning, she stared at her wand. Ever since coming here, Hermione had felt that no magic was denied to her. She had been successful, if not perfect, at everything Andromeda had taught her. "Why isn't it working?"

"It could be any number of things, but usually it's the memory. Often, the first thing that comes to mind isn't the best. Something it's too much of one thing – too much joy or love but not enough hope – or the memory may just not be as happy as you think."

For some reason, Narcissa's matter-of-fact dismissal of what Hermione was sure was one of her most pleasant memories irked her. "Well, what do you think of, then?" she asked peevishly.

The look Narcissa gave her sent chills down her spine. She backtracked quickly. "S-sorry, I didn't mean – I'm sure that's private, I just—"

Narcissa waved off her apology. "It's alright. Actually, it's a memory of my son, Draco, when he was very little." A sad smile drifted across her face for a moment, but her implacable mask quickly dropped into place. "It's grown bittersweet over the years, but it's still the most powerful one I have, and it hasn't failed me yet."

Hermione felt she had stepped into something very private and wasn't sure how to take a step back. There was silence between them, weighty with some past Hermione had not lived. Narcissa's words, however, had sparked something in her, and this time, as she lifted her wand again, she thought of the look on her mum's face when she told her she had been promoted at the Ministry. It had been a lie, of course, but the pride and love she had seen each time she brought home "good news" had been the only thing that kept her going through the hardest days.

"_Expecto patronum!" _she said, soft but sure, and a mist of silver light bloomed from the tip of her wand. _Bittersweet, indeed_.

* * *

><p><strong> AN for the chapter:** Thank you to everyone who continued to tap on the glass of my aquarium with your reviews and messages to make sure this fish was still swimming. It worked. I love you all.

-Zarrene.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. _**This chapter earns its rating**_**.** Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one. _If you are underage or acts of a sexual nature between two consenting adult women is illegal where you live… just don't tell me. Or move somewhere else. _

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Andromeda, Hermione/Narcissa.

* * *

><p>Two days before Andromeda was scheduled to return, one of the things Hermione had been predicting with dread finally came to pass.<p>

Lucius cornered her alone.

It was rather astonishing that it had taken him this long, all things considered, but Hermione supposed it had more to do with being unwilling to venture into "servant places" like the kitchen than anything else.

It was nearly midday and still bitingly cold in the manor's more open chambers, so Hermione hadn't stepped one foot from the kitchen since making breakfast that morning, choosing instead to fill the smaller room with all the heat and warmth she could possibly eke out of the roaring fire and the giant pot she hung over it for soup. She wistfully planned on having enough leftovers that she could have hot soup every day all winter, even if no one else wanted the homely dish.

The Malfoy patriarch entered the room already in fine form, pushing the door open with far more force than necessary and muttering to himself, "Filthy elves can't keep one thrice-damned office warm!"

He paused in the doorway when he realized he was not alone. Like a cold-blooded reptile – a lizard, perhaps – he had been drawn to the warmth but appeared unappreciative of the lesser creature already occupying the sole patch of heat he had found.

If not for the soup, Hermione would have been willing to give up the kitchen for a few hours, but she couldn't very well leave it unattended.

"Isn't it a bit early for lunch?" Lucius snapped when it became apparent that she wasn't scurrying away as she usually did when she spotted him in the halls.

Watching the soup as she stirred so as to avoid either having to look directly at him or look down in a demonstration of deference she didn't feel he deserved, Hermione replied matter-of-factly, "Just thought I could do my part to warm up the place, sir; I wasn't expecting I'd be in anyone's way."

She was nervous – he had approached and was standing just that unnecessary bit too close for comfort – but she tried not to show it, waving her wand to regulate the heat of the fire before returning to a slow, methodical stirring.

Lucius made a noncommittal noise in acknowledgement of her words and Hermione expected he would either leave or, at the very least, sit at the table with the letters he was carrying, but instead he set the pile down on the nearest countertop and just… stood there, an intrusive figure just close enough to bother but not too close that an accidental bump could push him away.

Feeling cornered and irritable, Hermione cautiously stepped towards him, gesturing behind him as she said, "Pardon me; I need to get to the salt."

Not only did Lucius not move, he seemed to entirely ignore her words. "Perhaps you can be of some assistance to me, girl," he mused, folding his hands over the top of one of his many gilded walking sticks in a motion of almost theatrical contemplation. The silver snake's head seemed to stare at her malevolently with its chilling emerald eyes.

She tried not to let her irritation show. "Yes?" she asked, making an attempt to sound neutrally interested.

"My wife hasn't been around much in the past few weeks and I've noticed… I almost never catch so much as a glimpse of you when I'm trying to find her." There was a pointed pause. "You wouldn't happen to know where she secrets herself off to, hmm?"

Hermione could feel the blood abandoning her face and hoped the heat of the room was enough to disguise how pale she had become. "No, sir, I try not to be in anyone's way," she said, terrified of accidentally revealing some part of Narcissa's secret. She was immensely relieved at the degree of calm she had managed to summon and mentally praying that her classic servant's response would satisfy him.

Unfortunately, it did.

A dark grin flickered up over his thin lips and a cold gleam lit his eyes. "Well then," he mused. "Isn't that fortunate. If you haven't been spending time with my wife… that means she won't be looking for you if I… borrow you… for a few hours."

Hermione felt her stomach threatening to rebel at the sickening look she suddenly became aware of in Lucius's eyes. She had wondered if she had imagined his earlier taunting flirtation that first day, but now she faced it once again, finding herself dreading the fact that she was now significantly healthier and more well-filled-out than she had been upon her malnourished arrival. The look wasn't one of desire – no, not desire, desire would be reserved for someone Lucius saw as a person. This was not desire, this was _greed_. He was standing too close and she was frozen with indecision. _If I hex him, even if it's just a simple spell, I could lose everything. No witnesses. It's his word against mine as to any grievance, and even if Narcissa is angry with him, I doubt a servant is worth destroying their entire marriage over. _She desperately wished Andromeda were still here. Andromeda would believe her.

"I—the soup—I need to—"

"—I'm not in the mood for soup," he interrupted her, cutting off her feeble attempt to extricate herself from the conversation with his voice as surely as he cut off her attempt at a physical escape with another step forward. His tone was a clear attempt at being suggestive, seductive, but it felt to Hermione like something oily and disgusting crawling down her spine.

Hermione flinched back a pace when he reached towards her, earning a temporary reprieve that lasted exactly as long as it took him to take one more step. She was rapidly running out of ground and her wand still trembled with indecision at the end of a limp wrist.

"What my wife doesn't know won't hurt either of us."

The level of revulsion she felt in that moment had never been matched. _Poor Narcissa. No wonder she's so… _Any number of words could have finished that thought: _cold, distant, on edge, angry at him all the time_… but the one which immediately came to mind was _tired. _

It was a bad habit of hers, this sharpening of her thoughts during moments of crisis. It wasn't even mildly useful, because her thoughts always narrowed in on the wrong thing, focusing in with clarity on some puzzle she was musing over to allow her to escape from whatever negativity was going on around her. It worked, back then, when she was a child, when she could listen to her dad chase another man out of the kitchens drunk on their cheapest wine and all she had to do was hide out of the way and think of something else so she couldn't hear the cursing or listen to something being broken. She could pretend her mum's crying didn't eat away at her inside if she just listened to her own thoughts instead of those tears. Here, though; now, she couldn't turn it off. She wanted to bury herself in thoughts about Narcissa or Andromeda or cooking and ignore the looming danger right in front of her and, unfortunately, she was quite good at it. In this particular moment, it was not a useful self-defense; it was a vulnerability.

When he reached out for her again, her step back was more of a startled jerk and she staggered, letting out a yelp and nearly dropping her wand.

_"Shush!"_ Lucius hissed angrily, glancing worriedly towards the door, pressing in even closer as though his presence could muffle the sound. Instead, his walking stick slipped on a slick patch of the kitchen floor and knocked solidly into Hermione's ankle, causing her to stumble back against the solid surface behind her.

She heard the hissing before she felt the heat and had only a heartbeat to feel the heat before she felt the _pain._

Hermione screamed, jerking away from the cauldron of soup she had been unwittingly backing towards all along, unable to stop the sounds of pain that seemed to be driven directly from her scalded back and up out of her throat. Lucius mistook her cries for an attempt to get him in trouble and he reached out to slam a hand over her lips, pressing her back again as he yelled, "Be _quiet, _dammit! I didn't even touch you!"

The hand over her mouth would have been a mere distraction but the arm pressing down on her shoulders forced Hermione too close to the open fire once again. Even though she managed to arch away without touching the searing metal, the heat rising up and sliding along her already scalded spine was too much to take. She bit down solidly on Lucius's hand in pain and fury. Unable to form even a semblance of coherent thought, she stabbed him in the gut with her wand, a half-formed intention of a spell somewhere in the back of her mind. Sparks seared through his robes and sprayed out around his gut and he jerked back with a curse, leaving Hermione to crumple to the floor in a sobbing heap.

Finally, Lucius caught sight of the burnt tatters of the back of her robe and realized what he had accidentally done.

The door banged open and Narcissa whirled into the room. "Hermione! What's happened? I heard you scre—Lucius?" She caught sight of her husband leaning against the table holding his side and staring at Hermione with a look of pure horror. "Hermione!" Narcissa gasped, finally seeing the younger woman sprawled on the floor. "Oh Merlin, Lucius, what have you done?"

Through the cloud of pain she dwelled in, Hermione could hear Lucius stammering, "I didn't mean – I wasn't going to – I didn't mean to half kill her, goddammit!"

Narcissa rushed over to the fallen witch. "Oh bloody… oh, no, no," she muttered, tugging the ruined back of Hermione's robes further apart with trembling hands and gasping when she saw the full extent of the damage.

Hermione tried not to move. She tried not to breathe.

"Can you heal yourself?"

"W-what?" she gasped out, the word scarcely leaving her lips before it was chased away by a whimper of pain.

"Can you draw off me? Did she teach you? Andromeda, did she teach you to heal, yet?" Narcissa's voice was shrill with panic.

After how much pain talking had been, Hermione tried to shake her head this time instead. The motion of her neck tugged viciously at whatever mess had been made of her back and she cried out, trying to stay still.

"Dammit," Narcissa cursed. "Oh, hell. This is going to hurt."

Not giving Hermione time to think or even consider what that might mean, Narcissa reached out and grabbed hold of Hermione's arm, quickly pulling her side-along as she Disapparated. The instant of travel was so disorienting that it seemed to steal the pain for a moment, but the landing was so jarring that she finally, blissfully, passed out.

* * *

><p>The first time she came to, she was lying on her stomach and staring at a pair of black shoes. She could feel fingertips on her back, just on either side of a now-dull pain. Even as she felt her eyes closing again, she could feel the what little pain still lingered begin to disappear, and her last thoughts were to wonder where the warmth was she had gotten so used to in Andromeda's healing touch.<p>

* * *

><p>The face she saw upon waking was not what she expected. Bellatrix loomed over her, completely upside-down from Hermione's vantage point, glowering at her with that expression of almost uncertain disdain she so often wore in her presence.<p>

"Bella-Bellatrix? What, where—"

"—Oh thank heavens." Suddenly, dizzyingly, Bellatrix's face was shoved aside to be replaced by that of the youngest sister. "You're awake," Narcissa said.

"Where?" Hermione tried again, throat painfully dry. Narcissa understood enough hand her a glass of water and offer an answer.

"You're upstairs. I'm sorry to do that to you, but Merlin knows I've never been a healer. I never learned. Luckily enough, Bella can."

By this point, Hermione was feeling a bit more herself. Cautiously, she started to sit up, feeling her back protest with only the anger of stiff muscles, not of burned flesh. She glanced past Narcissa to where Bellatrix still stood, facing away from them like a child pretending she didn't care what was being said. "Bellatrix healed me?" Hermione asked cautiously.

Narcissa shrugged. "It only took a handful of threats and my wand at her throat, but yes."

Hermione stared into those pale, not-as-cold-as-she'd-once-thought eyes, remembering the fear in them when she'd found her in the kitchen. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you so, so much."

Narcissa helped her to stand when she seemed unsteady on her feet, lending her an arm. She tried to steer Hermione towards the stairs, but Hermione shook her head, stepping aside and holding out her hand in a silent _stay_ motion. Cautiously, she approached the other sister. "Thank you. I know you couldn't care less but… I'm grateful all the same."

Bellatrix didn't face her, but her shoulders rose and fell in a dismissive shrug. Still, it wasn't an insult, and it was more acknowledgement than Hermione had expected, so there was a small smile on her lips as she followed Narcissa downstairs.

They paused together outside of Hermione's chambers, standing in silence for a moment, neither woman sure how much of what had just happened should be spoken of aloud. Finally, it was Narcissa who spoke. "He'll pay for that," she said, voice soft but chilling in its strength.

There was a moment where Hermione considered any number of possible responses. She could demand severance pay and get away from all this, but she couldn't help but wonder what it said about her life that she still considered this madhouse a better choice than her previous existence. She could try to use what Lucius had attempted in her favor, but Hermione didn't think she had a manipulative bone in her body. She could break down again, could recall the pain and the helpless feelings that had overwhelmed her more than even the physical agony, but something in Bellatrix's cool, sure, emotionless healing had created an almost tangible barrier between that moment in the kitchen and the place she stood now. In the end, knowing she didn't want to leave, didn't want to lash out at Narcissa in misguided retribution, and didn't want to cry anymore, she finally said, "I trust you."

The brief flash of astonishment and relief that passed over Narcissa's face made Hermione certain she had chosen those three words wisely.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Hermione woke completely free of pain but filled with the dissatisfaction of questions she wanted answers to. Unfortunately, she knew of only one place she could find them; with Bellatrix.<p>

She almost talked herself out of it, knowing her curiosity was perhaps her greatest weakness, but leaving her musings untended was sure to drive her to distraction.

She convinced Rommie to let her deliver the eldest sister's breakfast in person. The poor elf made a halfhearted attempt to dissuade her, but the relief on her tiny face was palpable. Already, neither of the two elves would venture past the top stair, but even sliding the tray across the landing to where Bellatrix could retrieve it was apparently more than Rommie was comfortable with.

Hermione cautiously made her way up. She wasn't completely brainless; she held her wand out in front of her with a protection spell ready just behind her lips.

Bellatrix was waiting for her just at the top of the stairs, sitting on the floor against the wall, grinning at her with that feral smile she so often favored. She didn't appear even mildly surprised at the change in breakfast-bearer, and when she saw Hermione's wand, she laughed. "You can put that away, pet," she cooed. "I'm not in the mood to play."

It wasn't the most reassuring of statements, but Hermione… believed her. To a point. Keeping the wand firmly in her grasp, she edged sideways from the top stair and slowly lowered herself to the floor, sitting opposite the dark witch, mirroring her. Once seated, she pulled her feet in, knees up, and wedged her wand between her legs, still trained on the figure across the small sliver of hallway.

For a moment, they sat in silence, Hermione feeling rather strange just staring at her across the floor's width of space that separated them as the other witch ate her French toast. Finally, Hermione decided to chance it. She had a question, and though Bellatrix had always been less-than-forthcoming when she'd tried to engage her during the other witch's ventures to the kitchen, she had a feeling that Bellatrix was in a rare good mood and perhaps not a bit _bored_, now that she'd gotten used to having her run of the place. With Andromeda away, this might be her only chance to ask.

"You… you healed me."

It wasn't a question, so though Bellatrix stopped eating, she made no verbal reply, merely cocking her head.

"Why, why didn't it…" Hermione trailed off, unsure how to ask what she wanted to know. _Why didn't it feel… nice? Why wasn't there any warmth? Why wasn't it comforting? Why wasn't it… addictive, the way it is when your sister heals me?_

When it became apparent that Hermione wasn't going to finish her question, a strange gleam entered Bellatrix's eyes. "You're thinking about Andy, aren't you?"

Too quickly for Hermione to even think, _why haven't I learned my lesson, yet?_ Bellatrix had her wand out from wherever she had hidden it in her mess of dark robes. Some wordless spell froze Hermione in place just as it had before, but this time, Bellatrix murmured, "Shhh, pet, don't scream."

She walked towards Hermione very slowly, palms out. Hermione knew, in the back corner of her mind, that the instant she panicked and called out for help, even if only with her thoughts, Narcissa could race upstairs and find her. She _knew _intellectually that it would be okay, but the memories from the last time she had been paralyzed in Bellatrix's domain had even her mind petrified in a strange bubble of almost preternaturally calm fear, trapped in a cycle of _don't hurt me, don't hurt me, please _and _what on earth are you planning?_

Yet the look on Bellatrix's face this time was… different. It wasn't the pure, unadulterated hatred and rage that had filled her as she tried to kill her before. This was a look of… purpose, of concentration. Very slowly, deliberately, she raised her wand and pressed just the tip to the top of Hermione's cheek. "It'll only hurt for a moment," she said softly, voice lilting, childlike, and Hermione could swear she felt her mind shudder.

Bellatrix was right; the thin cut she made with her wand only stung. It was an almost surgical motion, and the control Hermione could sense behind it was oddly… comforting. "See? I can still hurt you, as long as my intentions are—" she giggled chillingly "—pure." With that, she pressed her finger just below the cut she had made, and it instantly healed.

Just as before, Bellatrix's healing was faster than Andromeda's and entirely perfunctory, leaving Hermione nearly nauseous with the whiplash of _there again, gone again_ pain.

Staring up at Bellatrix in confusion and fear, she found her tongue no longer frozen. This time, she managed to ask, haltingly "Why doesn't it… feel like… anything?"

Bellatrix laughed, and a muttered word brought the slice to prominence on her face once more, bringing a whimper of pain from the younger witch.

"That's not what you want to know, is it?" Bellatrix hissed gleefully. "You want to know why it didn't feel like _this."_

Her fingers were back, this time pressing directly to the center of the thin wound on Hermione's face, drawing a pained gasp from the girl before the feeling was suddenly replaced by a stunning, mind-numbing heat.

It felt _incredible_, though still nothing like the healing warmth of Andromeda's magic. This was a flame, an inferno, burning, searing through her not with comfort or a light, heady joy, but with _desire._ This heat was dark, heady, and so blatantly sexual that Hermione could hear herself panting as though from very far away, eyes rolling back, feeling her body strain against the spell holding her in place trying, not to get away, but to get closer to the source of all that passion. She could feel her thighs trembling, strength deserting her completely as every nerve ending between the cut on her cheek and her suddenly-straining clit was seared by Bellatrix's power. She was out of her mind with need.

She never wanted it to end.

In an instant, the older witch drew back her hand with a wild laugh, leaving Hermione trembling and gasping and incredibly, impossibly, agonizingly turned on.

"Because, pet, we can make it feel however we want," Bellatrix said, staring down at the still-frozen girl leaning against the wall with that signature Black look of haughty disdain. "And my sister knows _just_ how to make you crave her."

With that, Hermione found herself freed, crumpling in a heap on the floor as Bellatrix strode from the stairwell in a whirlwind of swirling fabric.

She didn't move for quite some time; her leg's wouldn't hold her up. Bellatrix's words echoed in her mind. _"My sister knows _just_ how to make you crave her." _She could still feel the lingering aftereffects of Bellatrix's power, the purely sexual heat she had forced into her blood through the small scrape on her face, and she couldn't help but feel differently about Andromeda's soothing touch. Bellatrix must have thought Andromeda was doing _that_ to her, seducing her with her healing. In a way, Hermione supposed, Bellatrix was right. But Andromeda had manipulated her much more subtly than Bellatrix's blatant demonstration. Andromeda must have realized just how much Hermione craved that comfort, that safety, and just as Bellatrix had said, it was the perfect touch to make Hermione never want to leave.

Hermione wasn't sure if she should be irritated or not. She wasn't sure she _could_ be.

* * *

><p>After that… enlightening encounter, Hermione was ready to do just about anything to take her mind off of the rush of sexual heat that kept returning to the center of her awareness as a now-dulled throb between her legs. Just the way Andromeda's soothing magic had kept her calm for hours afterwards, so too did Bellatrix's hedonistic taunt continue to linger, simmering just below the surface of her skin as a dark arousal that she was helpless to push away.<p>

She wasn't ready to brave the kitchens after what had happened there yesterday, and Hermione hadn't seen Narcissa since she had marched Lucius at wandpoint into a side room with a heavy wooden door that morning and sealed them inside. She stayed in her chambers for a while, writing to her mother, but something about the events of the day and the day prior were simply not conductive to keeping a casual tone in a letter to her mum.

Just as she was about to give up and head for the library alone, the door burst open and Hermione found herself swept up in a whirl of arms and robes and it wasn't until her back was against the wall and she was being kissed within an inch of her life that she realized Andromeda was home.

The fire that had been cooling to embers just beneath her skin since her encounter with the darker side of healing suddenly sparked back to life, roaring up inside her and demanding she yield to Andromeda's possessive hands clutching her close and the warm, deadly lips threatening to consume her alive.

"You – you're home early," she gasped out when she was finally granted control of her own tongue.

There was something raw about Andromeda in that moment. She was dressed in Muggle clothing; a clinging crimson sweater and a pair of jeans that were far more attractive than Hermione could have ever imagined. Her hair was loose and brushing across the skin of Hermione's neck and shoulders in a thousand tiny silken kisses, but her eyes were sharp and just a bit wild.

"Oh, Merlin, I missed you," the older witch breathed, staring into Hermione's eyes with an intensity that stole what little breath she had left. In the space of a single heartbeat, Andromeda's mouth was at her neck, pressing kisses along the column of her throat until she reached the soft skin just behind Hermione's ear, nuzzling there for a moment before she whispered, "I want you."

There was a part of Hermione that tried to take an emotional step back, to look rationally at why she was feeling so desperate for Andromeda's touch, to fight against the lingering traces of Bellatrix's magic still heating the very blood in her veins, but it was a small part of her. Very small. Far too small to make a difference when warring with the parts of her that had been falling for Andromeda for weeks, wanting nothing more than to finally know what it would be like to let the other woman have her. Paired with her already heightened arousal, her common sense stood no chance.

"Y-yes," she whispered, voice breaking as teeth nipped at the side of her throat, a playfully possessive motion that quickly turned into warm lips and tongue to soothe the mild ache.

"Yes?" Andromeda asked, sounding as though she hadn't expected Hermione to be nearly so eager.

"Yes," Hermione gasped out in response.

"_Yes?"_ Andromeda prompted one final time, almost growling out the request for affirmation.

Instead of repeating herself, Hermione pulled Andromeda directly into another kiss, gaining the upper hand for just long enough to tug at the other woman's bottom lip with her teeth. Drawing back and trying not to look as desperate as she felt, Hermione's vision seemed to narrow until all she could see was Andromeda's face, full lips lightly parted, eyes dark, gaze heavy.

Hermione could feel herself leaning into every point of contact between them, melting against the fingers on her waist, legs struggling to hold her up on suddenly weak knees. Andromeda traced her thumb along the edge of Hermione's jaw as the younger witch's gaze traveled once more over the odd beauty of the Muggle attire; the long legs sleekly encased in dark-washed denim seemed to call to her like a snow-fresh mountain pool on a hot summer day.

It was torment to resist the urge to touch her for even a moment, so Hermione gave in, allowing Andromeda to pull her in closer just so she could set her hands on those taunting hips. Hermione could feel power in the way Andromeda moved, always controlled, tightly coiled, and having all that energy at her fingertips, focused directly on her, was a heady thing.

A single quick motion had her backed up against her bed, Andromeda's mouth on her neck once again. She arched her spine, gasping.

"Off," Andromeda muttered, tugging futilely at the middle of Hermione's robes. When the clothing ignored her spoken command, Hermione saw the flick of a wand in her peripheral vision before feeling goose bumps break out across her suddenly bare skin. "Better," Andromeda rasped, eyes searing along her body, only barely covered in her functional undergarments.

"You too – you too, please," Hermione whispered, feeling exposed and vulnerable and not minding in the slightest, but wanting desperately to be granted more access to that pale, provocative skin.

Acquiescing, Andromeda took half a step back and tugged her sweater over her head. "If there's one thing Muggle clothes were made for, it's taking them off before sex," she muttered wryly. "Robes just get in the way."

Watching the slow reveal as Andromeda unzipped the denim and slid her legs free, Hermione was rather inclined to agree.

When Andromeda stood before her, though, naked aside from two slashes of dark silk providing an illusion of propriety, Hermione felt her throat catch with desire... but also with a rush of nerves. No longer entirely in the moment and at the direct mercy of Andromeda's fingers and lips, the fact that she had never done this before caught up to her in a flash of almost debilitating panic. "Can, can we… take this slowly?" she cautiously asked.

The desire in Andromeda's eyes was suddenly softened with a look of compassion; the smile which tugged up one side of her lips was the exact one whose kindness Hermione had fallen for so long ago on the floor of the Ministry lift. "Of course," she said, voice soft, stepping close and taking Hermione's face firmly between her palms. "Trust me?"

Hermione nodded helplessly, melting into another kiss. Andromeda had one hand wrapped around the side of her neck and Hermione could feel her own pulse fluttering wildly against it. The kiss started soft but quickly grew demanding, the intimate claim Andromeda seemed determined to stake on her lips was heady, dark, and sweet.

Hermione slipped both hands up along Andromeda's bare back, reveling in the shivers she could feel her touch creating. When she reached the clasp of the bra, she froze, unsure if she should take that particular initiative.

Andromeda distracted her by pushing her gently back onto the bed, shifting to straddle the younger witch. In a quick movement, she took that task out of Hermione's hands, reaching behind herself and shrugging out of the bra. Andromeda rocked slowly against Hermione's stomach, the wild look returning to her eyes. "I promised you slow," she groaned, "But I want you too much."

Seeing this beautiful witch undone with desire for her finally fragmented the last of Hermione's fears. "No," she said fiercely, tugging Andromeda's hands down to her chest and pressing them tightly against her. "Not too much. Never too much. Anything you want." At the look of pained, uncertain hesitation on Andromeda's face, Hermione added a final order. "Touch me."

It was the last command she needed to give that night.

Andromeda's fragile resolve broke and she quickly slipped her palms beneath the cloth still trying unsuccessfully to hide a pair of hardened nipples, to hide the evidence of Hermione's arousal. A muttered word banished both of the last garments she wore. Bending at the waist, Andromeda didn't pause to tease, immediately finding one painfully tight nipple with a swipe of her tongue before capturing it between her lips.

"Merlin," Hermione gasped, but the usual phrase of astonishment felt inadequate in that moment. When Andromeda let the nipple slip free from between her lips with a final tug of teeth, Hermione whimpered out, _"Andy,_" instead, and she knew she would be saying it again and again if the dark gleam in the other woman's eyes was anything to go by.

"You like that," Andromeda murmured, sounding incredibly pleased. She captured both nipples between thumb and forefinger and squeezed, chuckling softly when Hermione jerked and bit her lip. "Mmm, you do like it, don't you?"

It was almost too much for Hermione in her current state. She had never felt her body this awake, this aware, this wired and on edge and desperate for any touch the other woman would deign to give her starving skin. "Please," she gasped out, unsure what she was asking for but trusting Andromeda to know. She could feel the first teasing of orgasm shimmering along the skin of her thighs and couldn't decide if she wanted to be finished now, to come fast and hard and desperate and _now_, or if she wanted Andromeda to force her not to give in to her pleasure yet, to be teased and dragged up as high as she could possibly get before she could crash down. She'd rarely come for herself, not finding any great satisfaction in what little experimentation she had tried, but she already knew that this was going to be different.

With a force of will, she convinced her nails to stop clutching Andromeda's shoulders so tightly. Instead, she fanned her fingers lower, just daring to graze the tips of Andromeda's nipples, eliciting a quiet whimper that did delicious things to both her arousal, and her confidence. When she slid lower to take the soft weight of each breast in her hands, Andromeda sagged against her, pressing her forehead to Hermione's shoulder.

"I need – I need to have you," Andromeda hissed. "Now. Now, before I'm too far gone." She slid farther down Hermione's body, tugging apart her thighs and settling on her knees between them. Gently drawing Hermione's hips closer, encircling her waist with her fingers, Andromeda pressed a kiss to her stomach.

"Oh!" Hermione could feel her thighs trembling and she grasped hold of one of the other woman's hands to anchor herself. She gripped harder as Andromeda kissed lower, brushing teasingly against the delicate skin that connected her thigh to her center. When the lightest breath blew teasingly across Hermione's hypersensitive flesh, she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer.

"Your skin is on fire," Andromeda marveled as she slid a palm up the inside of Hermione's thigh. "Have I done that to you?"

Hermione felt a weak laugh slip from between her lips, knowing from the cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on the older woman's face that she knew very well just what she had done to her.

"I love the way you feel," she continued, brushing just the backs of her fingers against Hermione's center. Hermione bit back what was sure to be an embarrassing noise but Andromeda wasn't having it. "Don't hold back." A single finger traced through the proof of Hermione's need. "I can feel how close you are and I've barely even touched you. It's driving me mad."

Hermione could feel muscles in her abdomen tense and twitch in ways she hadn't known them capable of. She heard an urgency in Andromeda's voice as that single finger continued to torture her with its faint presence. "Keep your eyes open."

Hermione caught her lower lip between her teeth as the first gentle stroke of Andromeda's finger over her clitoris threatened to send her eyelids crashing shut once more.

"Open," Andromeda hissed, and Hermione felt the force of the word all throughout her body. When she was sure Hermione was going to obey her, Andromeda dipped her head down once again. Her fingers slid lower, gently curling upwards and inside as the searing heat of her tongue slipped over Hermione's clit.

Hermione couldn't remember how to breathe, much less how to keep her eyes open with any degree of surety, but seeing Andromeda's head bowed between her legs, eyes looking up at her from beneath the signature heavy lids that marked a deeply seductive trait of the Black family, it was impossible to look away.

"Good girl," she whispered as she began moving her fingers with more purpose, pacing her, pushing her, teasing her closer and closer until Hermione knew nothing but this blinding edge of agonizing pleasure and then, with one sure, deep thrust, bringing her over.

When she could finally speak, she was cradled in Andromeda's arms, still shivering with the lingering effects of that skilled touch. She was exhausted, mentally, physically, and emotionally, but the draw of the heat she still saw shimmering just beneath the surface of the other witch's skin had Hermione determined to offer her some small piece of what she herself had just experienced.

When she slid a brave palm down Andromeda's body and beneath the scrap of silken underwear still clinging determinedly to her hips, the look of surprise on her face was priceless.

"Hermione, you don't have to—"

"—I want to," Hermione insisted, nervous and uncertain but knowing that she was not the sort to take pleasure and offer nothing in return. "I'll admit you've… got me feeling a bit ragged, but I need to feel you. I need to know you, to know that you…" In this heated moment, Hermione wasn't sure she was ready to give voice to her insecurities, but Andromeda seemed to sense them and wasn't at all reserved when she was certain it was what Hermione wanted.

She slid her own palm down over Hermione's, steering them down together and pressing two of Hermione's fingers inside of her along with one of her own. With a feral sort of lust, she began to move herself against their entwined hands, and Hermione could do nothing but watch in awe as the woman took her own pleasure from the both of them.

She didn't last long, but the intensity of the look on her face as she came was one of the most painfully beautiful things Hermione had ever seen. Hermione was afraid to so much as blink, afraid to shatter the connection she felt between their hands and between their eyes, but eventually Andromeda pulled back.

Tugging aside the covers, Andromeda steered them underneath, drawing Hermione close and whispering in her ear, "Sleep now, you beautiful creature. I'll be here when you wake."

* * *

><p><strong>AN for the chapter: **This chapter is dedicated to wonderful human being and incredible friend laxbabe3 to welcome her into adulthood. I wrote this just in time for her to legally read it. Happy 18th birthday!

If any of you dear followers want to earn a special place in my heart, you could tack on a happy birthday to her in your review… ;) I'll make sure she gets them!

Now, I know some of you will have gritted your teeth through the end of this as you clutched your purist Bellamione ideals close to your heart, but I promise things will be looking up for you soon enough. I was too attached to let Andromeda go without giving her a bit of happiness first.

Hopefully life will continue to allow me to update at a more reasonable pace, but if not, know I haven't abandoned you. This fandom is a beautiful place to dwell in, and I miss you terribly when I'm away.

Love always,

- Zarrene.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in this and future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Andromeda, Hermione/Narcissa.

* * *

><p>Hermione woke slowly the next morning, feeling her body protest in delicious ways to the previous evening's activities. When she noticed that she was alone, however, she was a bit quicker to rise. A moment of worry flashed through her before she caught sight of a scrap of parchment sitting on the pillow still bearing the indent of Andromeda's head. When she reached over to pick it up, the scrap came to life, folding itself quickly into a pair of paper lips and speaking in Andromeda's clear, easy voice.<p>

_"I'm so sorry that I didn't remember to tell you last night, but I've got to be at a Wizengamot meeting today to explain the fire_; _Lucius and Narcissa, too. If it were up to me, we'd be in bed all day. As is, I'll be thinking about you, and I'll be back as soon as I possibly can."_

The scrap flitted over and gave Hermione a quick kiss on the cheek before falling shapelessly into her open hand. She felt herself blushing and grinning like a fool at the adorable bit of magic and carefully smoothed out the parchment before slipping it into the desk drawer for safekeeping.

It was disappointing that her new lover would be gone all day, but in some ways, Hermione was a bit grateful. As much as she would love to stay mindlessly happy between the covers for the entirety of the near future, she needed time to think.

Hermione's stomach reminded her that she had skipped dinner last night. Feeling a bit guilty over having slept in, she decided that this would be the best time to brave the kitchen again – when Lucius was not home and Bellatrix could not leave her floor – and make something simple for both herself and the eldest sister.

She was thrilled to find the pantry freshly stocked with her latest requests, including the weekly fresh pastry treat, croissants this time. Having the new supplies allowed her to entirely ignore every heating-required cooking option and stick to the cabinets and tables, and she soon had a satisfactory set of breakfasts prepared.

It was only once the food had been made, however, that she realized she was unlikely to see Rommie this morning. Her own late rising paired with her choice to bring Bellatrix's meal herself the day before gave little indication she had expected the elf to fetch it today. Despite her own misgivings, she had a feeling that, even should she try to find Rommie, the look of disappointment on her face at finding out Hermione's bravery had been a one time occurrence would probably be enough to have her volunteering again. Feeling her stomach drop at the sudden rush of nerves, Hermione hesitantly pulled down a tray and started towards the stairs.

At the landing, Hermione couldn't bring herself to just set the tray on the floor and leave. It felt a bit too much like feeding an animal, or like slipping food through the slot on the door of a prison cell. It wasn't the way you treated a human being. "Madam Black?" she called tentatively. There was a moment when the words echoed down the hall, but soon the sound of her words faded and was replaced by the sound of footsteps.

Bellatrix waltzed around the corner. Catching sight of the younger witch, she paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing. "My food is late… and there's something a bit _fishy_ about the Mudblood today," she muttered as she approached, staring directly into Hermione's eyes but seeming to talk to herself.

She scooped up the tray from Hermione's fingers in a motion too quick for her to even flinch. Hermione started to back away down the stairs, but Bellatrix wasn't finished with her observation. "_That_'s what it is. Practically dripping in the stench of _blood traitor._" She laughed as she walked a few paces down the hall before settling onto a window ledge, one foot up, the other dangling down, calf peeking jauntily out from the odd angle of her skirts. "Come now, pet, don't hurry off."

Hermione was quite ready to do exactly that. "Sorry about the late breakfast," she said hastily, ready to make her exit, but Bellatrix gave a childish pout that, even in its insincerity, made Hermione pause. "Did… do you need anything else?"

The woman gave a childishly dramatic shrug. "Course not. Here I was, though, thinking you might still be interested in that story I promised you…" She trailed off with a flippant wave of her hand. "Guess not."

There was a threat in that voice as much as there was a promise, something dark and ominous taunting beneath the playful lightness of her tone. Still, the words instantly brought all of Hermione's questions about Bellatrix's youth to the forefront of her mind, and it felt impossible to ignore the chance to answer a few of them. She paused just a second too long, and Bellatrix could clearly tell she had caught her. "Look here, Mudblood. I'll even set down my wand."

Sure enough, that wand Hermione had grown to dread the sight of was withdrawn from Bellatrix's waistband and kicked nonchalantly towards her, lying on the floorboards like a dark claw severed from the paw of some great beast.

Hermione stared at it for a long moment, sure there must be a trap somewhere, something she wasn't considering, especially in light of the taunting gleam in Bellatrix's eyes, but against all better judgment, she found herself nodding. "Alright," she whispered, and she took up her place on the floor just beside the stairwell. "I'll admit I'm rather curious."

She found herself waiting somewhat impatiently as Bellatrix finished her breakfast, but the pause was enough for her to put aside some of her nerves. She tried not to stare, but couldn't quite help it. The contrast between Bellatrix and Andromeda was so… disarming. They shared so many superficial features; the refined bone structure of their faces, the heaviness of their stare, the aristocratic breeding ingrained in every fluid motion. Yet the differences were _fascinating_; the shared curls lighter and impeccably groomed on one while darker and untamed on the other, yet both equally striking, the degree to which Bellatrix seemed more solid, boasting a strength about her that Andromeda had only a subtle possession of, and, of course, the way Bellatrix had been so scarred by her years in captivity. Though the most blatant ravages of Azkaban had been healed by time or fixed by magic, there were things which healed more slowly. Her face was still more lean than that of either other sister, her cheekbones standing out in stark relief against the more hollowed space below. Besides the strain on her appearance, Azkaban seemed to have changed the way she moved as well. While her motions still spoke of high breeding and the poise of her station, the smaller motions were more… twitchy, and the hands which held her fork and tray were clenched impossibly tight, as though reflexively fearing someone would try and steal them from her before she finished.

Bellatrix seemed unaware of Hermione's scrutiny until the last bite was gone, setting the tray down on the floor before meeting the other witch's gaze once again. "Well then. Where were we?"

Hermione thought the question rhetorical, yet the pointed look she was on the receiving end of spoke otherwise. "Ah, you… you told me that you… um… the gardener…" She couldn't quite bring herself to say Bellatrix's own cryptic words back to her, and certainly couldn't summon the degree of nonchalance she possessed. Luckily, Bellatrix didn't seem in the mood to demand word games.

"Ah yes, that's where we were. I suppose I could tell you the story but… there's an easier way."

Before Hermione could make sense of her intentions, a hand gesture and a wandless, whispered spell sent Hermione's reality spinning around her.

_ It took Hermione a moment to get oriented in the foggy world in which she found herself. She had fallen into a pensive once in the little antique shop just around the corner from the inn, drifting for a while in some old man's fragmented memories until her dad came along and fished her out. That experience cued her in to what Bellatrix had done; this was a memory. _

_ Unlike the pensive, however, these images were sharp, clear, and direct, only fogged about the edges by virtue of her being a stranger in this place. _

_ The location was familiar, as she would be hard-pressed not to recognize her current place of residence, Black Manor. The time, however, was clearly long passed, as the grounds were perfectly groomed._

_ Ah, there she was, Bellatrix, standing on the lawn of the manor with her back turned. As she spun on her heel with a laugh, Hermione's breath caught. She was stunningly beautiful, here, hair gleaming with health, eyes wide and lit from within with the innocence of youth, teeth flashing in a dangerously carefree grin, already somewhat wild, somewhat feral, but wild with joy, not madness. She was so young, younger than Hermione, though perhaps not by much. _

_ There was a man beside her, older than her, but old enough to be a brother, not a father. He seemed a bit faded in memory, features hard to discern, but he had skin tanned and weathered from working outdoors and his hands were protected by neon green gardening gloves._

_ As Hermione watched from her voyeuristic perch beneath a single peach tree, Bellatrix laughingly plucked at the fingers of one bright glove until it slid free from the hand beneath. After she had stolen one, the gardener handed over the other willingly. _

_ "Go ahead," he said with a grin, "but if Druella catches you in the dirt again I won't take the blame for it."_

_ Hermione could see Bellatrix's lips moving in reply, but the memory was fading, changing, and she was gone before she heard anything more. _

_ Bellatrix was alone this time, still working in the garden, elbow-deep in a flowerbed. The sun was setting, staining the light fog that had rolled in with shades of crimson and purple. Hermione smiled as she watched Bellatrix wipe the back of her arm across her forehead, leaving behind a streak of dirt. Just as she finished pulling out the last of the weeds she could reach from where she knelt, a figure approached from the direction of the house, too far away to be clearly seen. _

_ "Bellatrix! How many times does your mother have to call before you come in for dinner?" The voice was low and clearly impatient, brusque with an anger that seemed a bit excessive for Bellatrix's apparent offense. _

_ "Coming, father," she quickly called, frantically yanking off her gloves and attempting to pat down her hair, waving her wand briskly along her skirts to remove the worst of the specks of dirt. _

_ Hermione followed along as Bellatrix approached her father. When she was close enough to get a clearer look at him, he was close enough to see the dirt on Bellatrix's forehead. So quickly that Hermione yelped and jumped back, his hand flashed out and slapped Bellatrix across the cheek. "What have we told you about gardening!" he thundered, glowering down at his daughter. "You aren't a child anymore." Bellatrix had barely flinched at the slap, and even as her head was bowed against the onslaught of words, her spine was rigid and unrepentant. "If I catch you at servant's work one more time I'll see to it you act as my personal house-elf until it's time to go back to school! Your mother and I have raised you like a lady and by Merlin you will conduct yourself like one."_

_ When Bellatrix didn't react, he reached out and grabbed her chin in his hand, yanking her head back to make eye contact. "Have I made myself clear?"_

_ Bellatrix's gaze was defiant and her tone was glacial, but the only words she spoke were, "Yes, father." _

_ The memory changed again. _

_ The next moment was indoors, some room in the Manor she couldn't immediately identify from within. There was Bellatrix, still just as youthful, lying on her stomach with her feet kicked up behind her, wand at her side, propped up on her elbows as she read from a thick scroll half unrolled in front of her. She was muttering quietly to herself as she read, and when Hermione peered over her shoulder, she could see the diagrams of an Animagus transformation. The writing was old, however; some language she didn't recognize written in ink faded with time. There was no way that was a Ministry-sanctioned text. Bellatrix was teaching herself, and Hermione had read enough horror stories to know that it was not a good idea. _

_ Then, though the scene stayed the same, a whirl of memory-fog rushed between them and Hermione's perspective changed. In a flash, she was no longer standing beside the young Bellatrix but was looking out from inside her, staring out directly through her eyes. It felt even more voyeuristic this way, Hermione thought, as she could feel shadowy half-thoughts forming as Bellatrix read, thoughts which belonged to the other witch. It was eerie, these glimpses of emotion and concentration being fed to her through the tenuous connection of memory. The longer she watched the scroll through Bellatrix's eyes, the more difficult it became to keep a firm grasp on which thoughts were her own and which belonged to the woman whose mind she was unwittingly sharing. _

_ After a moment, she – no; Bellatrix – set down the scroll and stood, approaching a floor-length gilt mirror and – Hermione felt her ghostly cheeks flush – starting to undress. _

_ Hermione had no control over where Bellatrix's eyes looked, and for that she was grateful, since it meant she stared directly into the eyes of her reflection rather than anywhere Hermione might have found blushingly difficult to avoid seeing. Then, fully naked, her lips started to move, muttering some strange spellwork beneath her breath. _

_ Before her eyes, a transformation was beginning. Her nails lengthened, her teeth pressed painfully against each other in a mouth still too small, and her entire body seemed to be losing height. Suddenly, a flash of pain brought her – brought Bellatrix – to her knees. _Something's wrong_, Hermione thought frantically. _This is too slow_ – _too painful – this isn't how becoming an Animagus is supposed to work!_ She felt a cry ripped from her throat, an inhuman sound, and she wanted desperately for Bellatrix to turn, to face the mirror so she could see what was happening, but she felt something else wasn't right, something besides the agony of the change. _

_ Those shadowy half-thoughts she had been feeling within the memory… they had stopped._

_ By the time she realized Bellatrix was no longer thinking, the pain had gone. She was hunched over on the floor, breath heaving in and out of her in an entirely unfamiliar way. Before she could make sense of the fluidity of her motions or even catch a glimpse of whatever sort of legs her arms had become, Bellatrix had launched herself at the single lamp in the corner, knocking it over and plunging the room into darkness. _

_ The memory was jagged after that. Her thoughts and vision both were fragmented and sporadic, leaving Hermione struggling to piece together how they she had left the room, how she was suddenly outside, and what small, hapless animal she had just snapped her jaws closed around. Bellatrix seemed completely absent from her own body, Hermione's thoughts completely alone in this instinct-driven shell. _

_ She could see almost perfectly in the sparse moonlight, though everything seemed oddly flat, warped by the placement of her eyes in her new skull. When a bright light suddenly flooded out across the lawn to where she crouched, she could feel her ears flatten to her skull and a rattling growl issue from her throat, shaking the entirety of her chest. _

_ "Hey!" a voice called. It was the gardener, wand raised, silhouetted against the light from his room behind the shed. He had clearly heard something large rustling around, but it was impossible to tell how much of her he could actually see. "Get out of here, shoo!" _

_ Feral-Bellatrix didn't like that idea. Her growl deepened. _

_A flash of red sparks shot from the tip of his wand, striking the ground just inches from where she crouched. Bellatrix, however, was too far from human in that moment to be afraid. Instead, it made her angry. In a flurry of motion, she launched herself towards the light, ignoring the pain when a second volley of red sparks clipped the fur on her shoulder. Too quickly for him to cast again, her claws were in his chest and her teeth in his throat. The sound of tearing flesh faded away as the memory went hazy once again. _

_For the next moments, Hermione was desperately glad to no longer be watching directly through Bellatrix's eyes. Instead, she looked on as an impossibly young Andromeda found a now-human Bellatrix kneeling over the bloody remains of the gardener, keening as she held his upper body to her naked, blood-stained chest. _

"_Bella!" Andromeda shrieked. "Bella, what happened? Are you alright?"_

"_Go away Cissa," Bellatrix barely whispered, voice hoarse and empty. _

Cissa?_ Hermione thought, doing a complete double take when she realized that the sister she could have sworn was Andromeda did, in fact, have a narrower face and appeared far too young to be the middle sibling of Bellatrix at this age. It wasn't Andromeda who had approached; it was Narcissa, but in the memory, Narcissa's hair was brown, as dark as both of her sisters'. _

"_Bella!" this young, dark-haired Narcissa cried out again, standing frozen a few feet away from the carnage. _

_For a moment, it seemed Bellatrix was entirely lost, that she wasn't going to respond. Then, Hermione realized she was whispering something, practically chanting her words like a broken mantra, and it was getting louder. "I can fix this. I can fix it. It's okay. I didn't mean to. I'll make it better. I can fix it."_

"_Bella he's dead!" Narcissa whimpered, stepping closer and trying to tug her sister away from the corpse. She was crying, too young to fully understand. "Bella let go!" _

"_No!" Bellatrix yelled, and there was magic in it. The word left her in a wave of anguished power, knocking Narcissa on her back and sending a flock of starlings screeching from the nearest trees. _

_Before Narcissa could even stand, Bellatrix was pressing her hands against the bloody chest she held, just over the gardener's heart, eyes wild, chanting in the same old language she had used in the bedroom before. After seeing the mess that language had made of Bellatrix's first Animagus transformation, Hermione was terrified of what this next spell could do. She swore she could feel the hair rising on the back of her neck. Whatever Bellatrix was doing was dark. She could feel the power in it, malicious, greasy, dripping out of the young Black's palms and into the body beneath them. _

_She could feel when it went wrong, too. The spell seemed to break, a flash of sickly green exploding from under Bellatrix's hands and passing into the land around her in a shuddering wave. It was instant chaos. Every animal in sight was suddenly screaming, running, fleeing as quickly as possible from whatever she had done. As Hermione watched, the ones that didn't run fast enough fell dead, crumpling to the earth in limp heaps. Staring at a rabbit which had fallen just beside where Hermione stood, she gaped in terrified awe as all color faded from its fur before its skin seemed to collapse in on itself, shriveling into something completely unrecognizable. When the pulse of death seemed to have passed, the body of the gardener was completely gone, every trace of him, even the blood that had stained Bellatrix's skin. _

_Bellatrix finally jerked away, gasping, staring down at her hands with horror. She stood, turning frantically to where her sister had fallen. "Cissa!" _

_She didn't move, still lying prone where Bellatrix's initial anger had flung her._

_Hermione waited with bated breath, irrationally terrified even though she knew intellectually that Narcissa hadn't died this day. _

_This young Bellatrix, however, didn't know that, and she was sobbing, shaking her sister's shoulders. "Cissa wake up! Wake up!"_

_Hermione swallowed thickly as she saw the color draining from Narcissa's hair and eyebrows, bleaching slowly from roots to tip, a haunting, unstoppable progression. _

"_Please!" Bellatrix whimpered, and – just as when she had flung her sister away from her – Hermione could feel power in that single anguished word. Bellatrix had given up on trying to shake her awake and had instead pulled her sister into a hopeless, crushing embrace, and Hermione watched over Bellatrix's shoulder as Narcissa's lips parted in a single shuddering gasp. _

_Slowly, her eyes cracked open, and Bellatrix's sobs turned from those of fear to those of pure relief. _

Snapping back to reality was less than pleasant. Hermione felt ill. She could feel the haunting ooze of dark magic all over her skin and she could still _taste_ him, the gardener, a lingering meaty darkness at the back of her throat likely to turn her vegan. "Oh, _Merlin_," she whispered, staring up at Bellatrix in a new mixture of horror and a pity she knew the elder witch would not appreciate, but was unable to keep from feeling. The glimpse she had felt of Bellatrix's mind had been a frightening place even before that incident, a place of brutal ambition and damaged pride, already scarred by her father's cruel discipline and the all-consuming drive she felt to protect her sisters and better herself, but she had still felt human to Hermione's rather naïve observance. After that moment, though, Hermione had seen something break inside of the dark woman's mind, something irreparable, and something that must have only been spreading and growing in the long years of death, imprisonment, and torture that had followed.

As she tried to catch her breath, to gather herself, she met Bellatrix's stare with her own. "That's more than enough of that, eh?" There was a peculiar glint in the dark witch's eyes. "Dreadful stuff, really."

"I… I'm… I don't even know what to say," Hermione stammered, wondering what on earth had possessed Bellatrix to let her that far into her memories. "I'm incredibly sorry that happened to you—"

"_Sorry?_" Bellatrix hissed, rising without warning and stalking towards Hermione. She scuttled backwards from the burning anger she saw in the other woman's eyes. "The Mudblood's _sorry_ again; always _sorry_, you are," she spat. "I can't do _anything_ with 'sorry.'" She was right up in Hermione's face, bending over her, their noses inches apart. "You're supposed to be _terrified, _little girl. You're supposed to be cowering, cringing away from me as you picture me ripping out your throat just like I did to _him_. You're supposed to be thinking about how _easy_ it would be for me to string you up again and snap your pretty little neck. You're supposed to think of how easy it would have been for me to kill my own sister and it's supposed to take you right out that door."

Just when Hermione was about to use a spell to get Bellatrix away from her, she leant back of her own accord. "Instead, all I get is 'sorry.' I'm beginning to think you've got a death wish."

Hermione stayed on the floor for a moment, once again feeling vulnerable and lost in the mess of trying to make sense of Bellatrix's words. _Did she really think I'd be scared of her more after that? _she wondered. In a flash of almost painful insight, she realized Bellatrix probably did. After all her time in Azkaban and running around with no one but Death Eaters and the Dark Lord for company, Hermione supposed it wouldn't be all that surprising if she had forgotten what sympathy felt like. Hermione _was_ frightened of Bellatrix; anyone sane would be, but she wasn't going to judge any more harshly now that she had been offered some small insight into the life that had created the broken woman across from her. It must have been a long time since anyone had offered anything other than blame and condemnation for the events of Bellatrix's past.

Slowly, Hermione picked herself up off the floor. "I… I think if you were going to kill me you'd have done it already. Why are you so determined to run me out of here? I though… I thought you'd given that up."

Bellatrix, back still turned, laughed. "Well, you're half right, pet. If I were _able_ to kill you I'd have done it already." She faced Hermione again. "Unfortunately, Andromeda isn't nearly as foolish as you are. I think she enjoys it; asking the Ministry to give her tighter control. After we had our first little chat, I can't do _anything_ to you with 'bad intentions.'" The last words were said in a dreadful impersonation of Andromeda's voice.

Hermione recalled the words Bellatrix had muttered yesterday after cutting open her face for the… healing demonstration. _See? I can still hurt you, as long as my intentions are… pure._ She supposed she should feel relief that killing didn't constitute pure intentions, but instead she found herself swallowing nervously at just how many loopholes that particular rule left open. She also found herself distinctly less than fond of the underlying message of those words: _the only reason I've been civil towards you is because it's the last way I have left to hurt you._ She thought she'd been making some sort of unspoken progress towards becoming a nonperson to the eldest Black; not someone she willingly associated with, but not someone she wanted dead, either. Now she realized she had been poking at a caged tiger all week, and only whatever extra control Andromeda could exert over her sister had kept her alive.

While Hermione had been gathering her thoughts, Bellatrix had apparently been doing the same. "I'm sure I'll find the right buttons to push eventually," she muttered, stepping closer to Hermione once again. Now even more on edge than she had been during the memory, Hermione raised her wand between them. Bellatrix pouted. "Now that you're all cocky with your pretty little stick it doesn't seem my magic frightens you very much. Violence makes you ill… but not terrified. Death… much of the same." The sing-song tone in which she spoke was unnerving, setting Hermione even further on edge. "Now that I think about it… there's only one thing I ever did to you that really seemed to make you uncomfortable."

Hermione was sure she looked more than incredulous. Of course nearly killing her had made her _uncomfortable_; uncomfortable was the understatement of the century. Everything Bellatrix did made her _uncomfortable_. It just didn't make her want to run away. As she'd argued to herself many times, she'd lived worse.

"Hmm... yes, I do think I got… under your skin – shall we say – once already."

The gleam in Bellatrix's eyes was completely disturbing.

"I think I should go," Hermione said, keeping her wand pointed at Bellatrix as she began to inch around her, back to the wall.

"No, I don't think you should," Bellatrix countered, tracking Hermione's motion with her eyes as she tapped one finger against her bottom lip. "I think we should play a little game."

Hermione moved faster. "I'd rather not."

"I don't believe you. After all, you had _so much fun_ in my head just a few minutes ago, hmm?"

Hermione's eyes widened. She had absolutely _no_ desire to return to Bellatrix's memories. Whatever else the witch planned to unsettle her with was not something she wanted to experience. Taking a chance that it would get her to the stairs safely, she finally gave in to the urge she'd been fighting since Bellatrix first approached and quickly flicked her wand. _"Stupify!" _

Bellatrix blocked her spell wandlessly with a casual wave of her hand. She laughed, as though Hermione's attempt at stunning her was the funniest thing she'd seen in her life. "Silly Mudblood. I've been dueling since you were in the cradle. Even if you were as old as England, my blood status would guarantee my magic could overpower you in a heartbeat."

Before Hermione could protest, Bellatrix cast another spell and she felt herself falling back into memoryscape.

_She tried to ignore her surroundings for a heartbeat, trying to find some color of magic that would break her out of whatever powerful mind-sharing spell Bellatrix had cast on her again, but before she could figure out how to break free, the situation she found herself in the middle of stole her full attention – and every ounce of breath from her body. _

_She was inside Bellatrix again, peering out through the other witch's eyes, but this time she was not alone. There was a woman beneath her, staring up at her with eyes at half-mast, lips parted, and body completely naked. The sheer whiplash of being dragged out of one scene of painful grief back into the real world before being thrown into this study in pure carnality had Hermione reeling. _

"_Oh, fuck," spilled from the lips of the woman beneath her. _

_Bellatrix clearly held her passion in her hands, her fingers the key to the release the woman so desperately needed, resting to either side of her trembling, straining clit. Being inside of Bellatrix as she made love to this fair-haired stranger left Hermione as breathless as the woman writhing beneath her – no, Bellatrix's – fingers. Yet, where before, Bellatrix's mind had been a maelstrom of young, turbulent thoughts, here, in this moment, her mind was achingly empty, as though this brutal pleasure she inflicted on the woman beneath her was her only escape, as though she could pump her very being out through her fingertips and into the hot, wet, tender flesh so willingly exposed beneath her. _

_Hermione could only imagine what it would feel like to be so entirely at the mercy of the dark witch in a way so impossibly pleasurable. The woman was gasping, crying, and she screamed as she came around four of Bellatrix's fingers, the piercing, soul-rending pleasure finally pushing Hermione out of the dark witch's head. _

By the taunting quirk to Bellatrix's lips, that had been less than accidental. Her hooded gaze seemed to challenge Hermione to call her out, to make any comment on what she had seen, but the younger witch was far too shaken to respond. She staggered away from the other woman and nearly stepped backwards off the landing, never taking her eyes off of the dark witch. As she fled down the stairs, she vaguely wondered if that little display hadn't been intended as more than just another attempt to scare her away. That had felt a bit too much like a taunt, and she tried not to wonder if this was in direct response to what she'd been doing with Bellatrix's sister last night.

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><p>Later, despite repeated attempts to try and start a conversation with Andromeda, she found herself in bed again, unable to protest the greedy hands and lips that had greeted her upon return from the Ministry. Far too quickly, she found herself naked and beneath her beautiful lover for the second time, and the heat of the moment was enough to drive most of the darker worries from her mind. Still, as Andromeda's fingers pressed inside of her, taking her so softly, achingly thorough, she couldn't seem to fix them in her mind. Just there, just inside of her, superimposed over Andromeda's fingers, she swore she could see another hand, one with slightly longer fingers and a harsher touch, and Merlin help her but the image made her gasp all the more, and oh, how wrong it was, to see Bellatrix's fingers knuckle-deep inside of her as she came, Andromeda's voice coaxing her so tenderly through the highest point of her pleasure.<p>

And maybe Bellatrix was right. Tearing out a man's throat hadn't sent her scurrying, but if she could corrupt Hermione's time with Andromeda, well… if she couldn't put aside the older witch's cruel, taunting sexuality, if a touch of healing or a vision of rough pleasure was enough to unsettle her this much… Hermione couldn't imagine what she was going to do if Bellatrix upped the ante.

Even as her thoughts whirled, she took Andromeda's fingers into her own mouth, cleaning them with all the sensual insouciance she could muster, all to be sure Andromeda wouldn't later taste the guilt she could feel pour out of her along with that stunning orgasm.

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><p><strong>AN for the chapter: **Now, I hate to put things like this in my author's note because it unfairly inflates the word count, but sometimes I get reviews that just leave me grinning like an idiot for quite some time after reading them, and sometimes they're long and sometimes they're short, but since I'm rarely one for replying and since half of you aren't signed in on real accounts anyway, I just wanted to give a little love to a few of you from the last two chapters. I grinned like an idiot at yours, **123**, and hopefully this chapter satisfied your curiosity. My fangirl heart goes a little crazy every time I see you, **Greyella**. The fact that you read my fic kind of blows my mind. Considering I already overreact in my head every time you reblog something from me on tumblr, you can imagine what seeing your byline on a review does. **ScOut4It** and **NightOfMine**, I'm so glad I didn't lose you during the hiatus as you always give me something to think about and something else to smile at. You two are impossibly precious to me. **SixPerfetions**, I always love watching someone on the catch-up. Getting emails one-by-one as you read through the chapters was a treat. **Maddy, **I'm always glad to keep someone up late into the morning! Finally, to everyone who wished my friend a happy birthday, you are literally my favorite people ever and she was very amused at all the screenshots I sent her of your random well wishes. This story belongs to all of you as much as it does to me; you've pampered my muse beyond all expectation.

Thanks again,

- Zarrene.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in past and future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Andromeda, Hermione/Narcissa.

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><p>It wasn't until the next morning that Hermione managed to attempt a conversation. "Andromeda, we need to talk," she said softly, staring down at the sleep-bemused face of her just-waking lover.<p>

Andromeda rolled over, stretching languidly and causing the sheets she was under to suddenly cover much less of her body. Hermione had to turn away to avoid the distraction.

"Hmmm, can it wait?" she mused, sitting up slowly. "There's someone I'd really like you to meet today, and if we're going to make it we ought to be heading out."

Unable to find it within herself to deny her, Hermione allowed herself to be steered out of bed without further protest. In the bathroom, however, she learned that "We really ought to be going" actually meant, "We really ought to leave time for me to get distracted when I decide sharing our shower is a good idea."

Then again, it was hard to complain.

Still, the timing was all wrong. Hermione could feel the weight of all the things that had happened this past week pressing in around her, making the air feel heavy and suffocating. As easy as it would be to lose herself in this new reality, there were so many things still out-of-place. She wanted desperately to see Narcissa, to find out where things stood between them and what had happened between her and Lucius. She wanted to reclaim the moment where she cast the start of her first Patronus, to reconnect to the tenuous sense of normalcy she had begun to build in her life here. More than that, though, she wanted to talk to Andromeda. One of the most compelling parts of her relationship with the older witch had been in their communication, in the determination she had to not hide anything from the middle Black. Without being able to let Andromeda know what was happening, what had happened while she was gone, the safety she usually felt with her was fracturing. She wanted to ask about the three sisters' past – now more so than ever – but was beginning to feel afraid that acknowledging where the few things she had learned had come from might be met with an anger she wouldn't be able to calm. Andromeda had been amazingly tolerant of her mistakes and impossibly compassionate about the things over which Hermione had no control, but how would she react, knowing Hermione had actively sought out Bellatrix while she was away and had allowed herself to be completely made a fool of, not just once, but twice now. Mentioning the sexual taunts seemed a suicide wish in the face of Andromeda's possessiveness. Everything was a disaster.

She made a half-hearted attempt to start an explanation in the kitchen, as she and Andromeda worked together to make a hurried breakfast, but Narcissa interrupted them. Hermione couldn't help but stare; it was the first she'd seen of Narcissa since she had disappeared with Lucius, and the youngest sister was looking remarkably… cheerful.

"Going somewhere today?" she asked lightly.

Andromeda nodded, smirking knowingly at Hermione.

"Can I ask where?" Narcissa added.

Andromeda tapped the side of her head and Narcissa arched an eyebrow. For a moment, the younger sister's eyes lost focus, and as she cast a quick glance towards Hermione, her lips twitched up for just a moment into that same knowing smile.

"Ah. Excellent. Do say hello for me, won't you?"

Had they been alone, Hermione might have acted playfully annoyed that Andromeda let her sister read her mind rather than give up their oh-so-secret destination, but with Narcissa in the room, she felt tense and uneasy. She needed to talk to the both of them, but not together.

An odd look unexpectedly passed over Narcissa's face. "Could I borrow a moment of Ms. Granger's time?"

Distractedly, Andromeda nodded. "Go ahead. I do need to grab my coat, but make it quick."

Mildly surprised that Andromeda didn't question her sister's request, Hermione blinked nervously at Narcissa as Andromeda left the room.

"My sister's in your head."

Of all the things she had thought Narcissa might need to say to her, that wasn't even a consideration. For a long moment, Hermione was sure the look on her face must have been some priceless combination of horror, embarrassment, and guilt, but Narcissa had the good grace shake her head and quickly add, "No, I don't mean… not Andromeda, and not like that. I promise I haven't been wandering the house reading your mind for the fun of it. I've just gotten in the habit of following around and cleaning up Bellatrix's messes, as she has been known to be a bit… heavy handed with other people's thoughts."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, wondering if this had anything to do with the memories she had seen the day before.

"I'm not sure when she would have had the chance to do this, but Bellatrix likes to... put herself into other people's minds. She leaves a little piece of her magic inside of you and it latches on to some weakness or another and, well… she drives people mad. It's almost a hobby of hers." Narcissa's cheeks were touched with a gentle flush of embarrassment as she added, "This though… this is different. I haven't seen her do it this way since before she was married. She preferred giving people nightmares during the war but this…" Narcissa's eyes seemed out of focus, as though looking at something Hermione couldn't see. "…this is sexual."

Finally, realization dawned, remembering the frightening, inescapable phantom touch last night, and the completely out-of-character way she had reacted to it.

"I must say… I thought she'd given up on getting rid of you. I suppose she just decided to try something different."

"Is this ever going to end?" Hermione mused aloud, trying to overcome her own embarrassment.

The corner of Narcissa's mouth twitched into a shadow of a sad smile. "I'm afraid not. Bellatrix is nothing if not resourceful, and I guarantee that when this doesn't work, she'll try something else. I can, however, fix what she did to you. If you'd like, I can even show you a trick or two to keep her out in the future."

Hermione tried not to look as surprised as she felt. This was the second kind offer in a few short days from the youngest sister. Compared to the cold welcome she had received on her first afternoon at the manor, this was a side of Narcissa which seemed almost… congenial, if not really warm. "I would be… incredibly grateful if you would."

Narcissa nodded and drew her wand, raising it deliberately to rest against Hermione's temple. She felt dizzy and disoriented for a moment, as though someone had tickled the inside of her skull with a feather, and then there was the impossibly odd sensation of something tugging just behind her ear until she swore she could hear something pop. It took a moment for her to feel balanced again, but she could tell immediately that something had changed. The oddly alluring preoccupation with the eldest Black she had been dwelling on all morning had faded into only the same lingering curiosity she had felt since she first found out she would be living with the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange, though now tempered with a bit more fear… and a bit more sympathy.

The twisted sensuality, however, was gone. Hermione sighed in relief, just starting to thank Narcissa when Andromeda popped her head around the corner. "I'm beginning to think I've missed some sort of conspiracy in my own kitchen. Are you coming, Hermione?"

Narcissa motioned her away, and Hermione mouthed a quick, "Thank you!" before she was steered from the room by the still stunningly cheerful Andromeda, seemingly too excited over their mysterious destination to care what the detour had been about.

For that, Hermione was grateful, since she was beginning to feel she had dug herself so far into this hole of accidental secrecy that she would soon bury herself alive.

* * *

><p>Hermione's mood changed to one of astonishment when she found herself outside the gates to their destination, a striking castle sprouting from the mountainside with an air of both stone-walled warning and window-lit welcome. She'd seen it enough times in the papers to know what this was.<p>

_"Hogwarts," _she breathed in wonder.

Andromeda was grinning at her with all the subtlety of a cat who had eaten the canary. "I had a sneaking suspicion you might like to see the place, and while I'd love to give you a real tour, you and I have a meeting with the headmistress."

"Minerva McGonagall?" Hermione squeaked. "I'm going to meet one of the most renowned transfiguration masters in the world and you didn't tell me!"

Andromeda laughed as the pitch of Hermione's voice rose in both indignation and excitement. "Surprise?"

Too eager to be irritated, Hermione followed Andromeda up along the winding path from the gate, trying to take in everything despite the brisk pace the older woman had set. Too soon, they stood before the main entrance, the doors opening wide to beckon them in and swallow them whole.

Though most students must have been in class, it was still unnerving to Hermione to have to walk past the curious faces of the occasional robed figure lingering in the halls. _That could have been me_, she mused, staring at a girl curled into a window alcove overlooking a huge lake, flipping frantically through the pages of a well-worn spellbook.

After being entirely astonished by Andromeda's ability to navigate a dizzying sequence of moving staircases, their journey through the school ended before a rather unpleasant looking stone gargoyle set into an unremarkable stretch of wall. At Andromeda's utterance of some word both lovely and flowing and entirely incomprehensible to Hermione, the gargoyle turned slowly aside, revealing a torch-lit spiral staircase. "Up we go," Andromeda said, cheerfully leading Hermione onto the stair.

At their knock, a voice from within called, "Come in! I'll be with you in a moment."

The headmistress's office was perhaps less personal than Hermione might have expected, but still extruded a cordial warmth that set her a bit more at ease. The room was lined with bookshelves bearing many an age-worn spine with the occasional trinket interspersed here or there, and the walls were ringed in picture frames – all empty, for the moment, though Hermione knew better than to presume that meant anything at all. A large desk dominated the floorspace, and Hermione followed Andromeda's example in taking one of the seats in front of it.

A moment later, a door in the far wall swung open to reveal a woman Hermione had seen more than once on the cover of _Transfiguration Weekly_ at the local newsstand. She was taller than Hermione might have expected, taller than Andromeda, and her tight bun and square spectacles lent her face some degree of severity, but despite her intimidating appearance, she greeted Hermione with a smile. "Ah, Miss Granger. It's wonderful to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Hermione managed, rising to shake the proffered hand.

"When Andromeda told me she'd found someone skilled in unbound magic, well… I've been insisting on an introduction, and here we are. Tea?"

Andromeda nodded. "Please tell me you've got some of that incredible blend I had last time.

The headmistress smiled, "Of course, but I'm still not going to tell you my supplier. If I do, you won't have any reason to visit." She drifted back behind the far door for a moment.

It was strangely unnerving for Hermione, watching Andromeda interact with someone as a friend. She realized how small her world had grown since she started working for the Black household, her contact limited to four other people and two elves. It was equal parts refreshing and disturbing to be forced to make normal conversation with someone else, and given that that someone was a world-renowned Transfiguration Master, Hermione thought her nerves were warranted.

McGonagall returned with three floating cups of tea, and Hermione took hers with a faintly trembling hand.

"Do I make you nervous, dear?" McGonagall asked lightly. "I'm used that from my students, but I can guarantee you aren't here for a detention."

The gentle teasing helped, and Hermione felt herself smile. "Sorry, ma'am."

"No apologies necessary. Now then." McGonagall settled behind the desk with her own cup of tea. "Tell me a bit about how you came to work with unbound magic. Andromeda has been incredibly tight-lipped."

Hermione took a sip of tea, trying to wrap her mind around the idea of being in the same room with Minerva McGonagall and talking about herself, of all things. It was, in fact, quite delicious tea. "I'm not sure what Andromeda has told you about me, but 'skilled' is more than a stretch. I had no idea there was any such thing until this year."

At further prompting, Hermione gradually relaxed into the tale of her patchwork magical education, and she eventually found herself watching in awe as a debate developed between the two elder witches, centering around the range of possibilities for her magic and the extent to which her existence contradicted some theory in some book Hermione had never heard of. Much of the conversation was technical to an extent she could hardly begin to comprehend, but she was more than content to sip the dark tea, absorb what new knowledge she could, and muse over how incredibly attractive Andromeda was when her eyes were lit up with the fervor of magical theory. It was all rather fascinating, really, especially when she noticed that Andromeda seemed to be growing increasingly nervous with the direction McGonagall's questions were taking.

"How much work have you done with raw magic?" McGonagall asked.

Andromeda stiffened. "None," was her blunt response.

The headmistress pressed her further. "She's had so much success with everything else yet you haven't tried going to the source?"

Hermione was somewhat amused to keep hearing her bumbling attempts at unbound magic described as "successful," but now that she had more than just Andromeda's word for it, she was beginning to believe that maybe these past months had been more productive than she had believed. It was true; she could now nearly always perform any given basic task even without knowing an exact spell for it, and she was making slow but clear progress in performing more than one spell in a single casting. It all felt very slow and rather simple to Hermione, but since she had little to judge her advancement against, perhaps this was more impressive than she knew.

"No," Andromeda finally murmured, having offered McGonagall a lengthy pause before replying to her last inquiry.

"I'd be more than willing to allow her to work with mine, if you're afraid for your own safety," McGonagall continued, pressing on insistently.

Now Hermione was more than curious. Raw magic? The source? Why were the headmistress's questions making Andromeda so ill at ease?

"Could I… speak to you alone for a moment?" Andromeda asked McGonagall, glancing worriedly at Hermione.

One dark eyebrow arched in surprise. "You haven't discussed this with her?"

"_Please_," Andromeda insisted through gritted teeth.

"Very well," McGonagall answered. She allowed Andromeda to usher her though the far door and Hermione was left alone, feeling awkward and small in the high-ceilinged room. She tried not to be distracted by the fiery whispers drifting from where the two witches had departed.

A bit bemused at being left to her own devices in the office of the headmistress of Hogwarts, Hermione tried to wander only with her eyes. Eventually, the bookshelf in the far corner proved too tempting and she moved closer, tracing her eyes along the spines of quite the eclectic collection of both novels and reference material. On the second shelf from the bottom, Hermione spotted a curious lump of brown fabric, looking a bit worn and out-of-place amid the spines of carefully tended texts on either side.

She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder, not having heard anyone approach. "Would you like to try it on?"

Headmistress McGonagall had returned without Andromeda. "Hmm?" Hermione asked, confused.

"That's the Sorting Hat." McGonagall paused, a sad smile turning up one side of her mouth. "I must say, I'm incredibly sorry to have missed the opportunity to have you here at Hogwarts. That being said, if you'd like to know anything about the school, feel free to ask, and if you'd like a… a taste of how things might have gone, I'm sure the hat wouldn't mind letting you know what house you would have been placed in."

Realizing now what the scrap of cloth actually was, Hermione felt inexplicably nervous, afraid to even ask to try it on, afraid that… that nothing would happen, that the hat would somehow know she had never been meant for this world, for this school. Still, some hint of longing must have shown in her expression because the headmistress scooped it up off the shelf and gently shook it out, smiling reassuringly at Hermione as she said, "Here we go."

With that, the now marginally more hat-shaped piece of cloth was plopped down on her head, and Hermione could have sworn she heard a slow, deep yawn.

_ "_Well aren't you quite the lost one," said a small voice in her ear. Hermione's eyes widened. "Tricky, too. What a mind you've got, eh? Hmm, Hogwarts lost real brilliance from you, I see. There's something, oh my goodness, yes—not a small bit of self-destructive courage, now that's interesting… Where shall I put you? Vision or valor, brains or bravery…"

Hermione was fascinated at the hat's evaluation of her, but she couldn't help thinking that, as much as she enjoyed learning, she would rather be sorted for her character than her intellect.

"Character, eh?" said the small voice. "You know, you're the second witch to surprise me in turning down Ravenclaw. Well, if you're sure—better be _Gryffindor!"_

The hat called the last word aloud, and Hermione shakily handed the hat back to McGonagall, who was beaming at her.

"Oh, how wonderful. You're one of mine." A flicker of regret flashed across her face. "Or, would have been, I suppose." She sighed. "A lost lion."

Andromeda chose that moment to reenter the room, glancing nervously between the headmistress and Hermione.

"No matter," McGonagall finished, returning the hat to its shelf and turning to the other witch. "I trust you found what you were looking for?"

Andromeda nodded, hefting a rather weighty tome she now carried at her side. Apparently whatever argument they had left for had been resolved. Hermione wanted to ask questions, but she didn't want to spark another conflict. It could wait until they were home.

"I let Hermione have her Sorting," the Headmistress said as she gathered up the three now-empty teacups with a wave of her wand. "Care to guess?"

Andromeda laughed. "I would have said Ravenclaw, but judging by the smug look on your face, she's actually a Gryffindor." She turned to Hermione. "We're mortal enemies, you and I; would you believe it?"

Hermione chuckled weakly, but wished she knew more about the nuanced history of the Hogwarts houses and what they stood for. She recalled the hat's musings of _bravery _and _valor_ and _self-destructive courage_, but she knew little about Slytherin's traditional traits, only the dark murmurs she had heard around Diagon during the war, none of which she could imagine applying to Andromeda.

"Have we taken up too much of your time?" Andromeda asked as she packed away the book in the bag she had carried with her.

"Not at all," McGonagall replied. "In fact, I'm using your visit as an excuse to avoid a dull meeting at the Ministry. Just as well, since Filius always has been better at bureaucracy."

Andromeda laughed. "In that case, is there any chance I could ask you a bit more about—" She hefted her now book-burdened bag. "—this?"

McGonagall was silent for a long moment, offering Andromeda a disapproving stare Hermione didn't understand, but she eventually nodded. "Of course. You know I always enjoy discussing theory with you."

"Hermione isn't going to want to sit through all that."

Hermione nearly protested Andromeda's words, quite ready to defend her own interest in a conversation clearly about her magic and which she was just as clearly not meant to hear, but McGonagall replied before she could gather her words. "Of course. I was thinking she might want a brief tour of the school… I think I could steal Miss Weasley from class to show her around."

Sure enough, after a quick note was sent off by a wave of the headmistress's wand, it took only a few minutes for a vaguely familiar figure to enter the room. It took Hermione a moment to place the girl, but ginger hair and a self-assured smile quickly brought to mind a certain day in a certain café… and the two girls sitting with Harry Potter.

"Miss Weasley, this is Hermione Granger. I was hoping you might show her around the school for a bit."

"All right, Professor." It was clear Hermione wasn't the only one to recall their encounter, as the Weasley girl offered her a fleeting smirk of recognition.

"Hermione, Ms. Weasley is our Head Girl this year, so if you have any questions, she will be more than able to answer. Have her back in… an hour?" At Andromeda's nod, McGonagall affirmed, "An hour."

With no further ado, Hermione was ushered from the room, left to stand awkwardly on the stairs as the door closed on a conversation Hermione really would rather have been privy to. This whole situation felt off, and as many times as Hermione had forgiven Andromeda for keeping secrets, it was one thing to do so about her family; it was another entirely to do so when Hermione was the subject of them.

After passing through the gargoyle, Hermione reluctantly followed the Head Girl down the hall. "It's Ginny, by the way. Any idea what McGonagall wants me to show you?" Ginny asked. "I usually only give tours to families. With, ah… kids."

To her own surprise, Hermione was fairly candid with the slightly younger witch. "I'm pretty sure they were just trying to get rid of me," she replied. "Sorry you got caught up in it."

Ginny arched an eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Excuse me?"

Ginny laughed. "Oh, you know. I saw you that day. I know you two are together."

At the complete lack of judgment in the girl's tone, Hermione smiled reluctantly, even though she was a bit taken aback. "Yeah. It's a bit… complicated."

Hermione was grateful when Ginny dropped it. "I know a thing or two about complicated."

"When I saw you that day, I thought you were older. How come you're still at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, genuinely interested.

"Oh, I'm a seventh year, but I'm only staying until the end of winter term; got recruited to the Holyhead Harpies." Hermione had just enough sporting knowledge to be aware of the excellent women's team. "I'm a year younger than Harry. Ron's my brother, you know?"

"I had guessed," replied Hermione, glancing at the red hair.

"Sorry he was such an arse to you. He's really an alright guy, but all this fame business has kind of gone to his head."

Hermione could now see that they were approaching the massive mess of moving staircases. "That's alright. Honestly, I felt a little bad for him."

Ginny chuckled. "He really doesn't know how to take a hint."

At the top of the stairs, Ginny gave Hermione an appraising glance. "Look, you seem alright, and if you don't mind missing out on the tour, I could actually use your help with something."

The conspiratorial whisper was intriguing, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if the two of them might have been school friends, had her life gone differently. "What sort of help?"

"Bit of a long story. C'mon; I'll fill you in as we go."

As a staircase finally arrived at their landing, Hermione learned it wasn't just a long story, but a bit of a strange one as well.

"There's a stray cat loose in the school; he's been around for years. I think two of my brothers might have brought him in as a prank, but they won't fess up. The cat's an ugly little bugger, but we've all gotten a bit attached to him, and now, ever since he got into a fight with Mrs. Norris, Filch wants him dead."

"Mrs. Who?" Hermione asked, a bit overwhelmed by both her surroundings, and the rapid-fire pace of Ginny's explanation.

"Sorry. Filch is the Hogwarts Caretaker and Mrs. Norris is his cat. The two of them are pretty much the bane of the school. Now, the stray's smart – we think he might be half Kneazle – but Filch is getting pretty serious about catching him, and while he's on his crusade, it isn't exactly safe for all the actual pets around. A bunch of us decided we ought to do it first and get him out of here while he's still alive. My mum will probably kill me, but I'm going to try and take him home, since break starts in three days. It's good I intercepted McGonagall's message before it got to Professor Flitwick." She grinned guiltily at Hermione. "Since I already planned on ditching this block to try and catch the cat, and I told him I'd be out of his class for a meeting with the Head."

As the account came to an end, so did their progression through the corridors. They had gone down so many flights of stairs that Hermione could only assume they were now underground, and she was rather confused to have stopped before a giant painting of a bowl of fruit.

"I talked to the house-elves and found out that he usually comes to the kitchens just before lunch. They give him scraps from the cooking leftovers, so I figure it'll be the best time to catch him."

"Is he friendly? Will he let you pick him up?" Hermione asked.

"Not exactly. Sometimes he lets people pet him, but only if he really trusts you." Ginny tugged a packet of something tan and powered from her pocket. "I came prepared. Three-minute sleep powder. My brother came up with it for a prank, but never got approved to sell it, and I nabbed the test batch. I've got a carrier right here."

With a wave of her wand, the oddest cat-carrier Hermione had ever seen slowly faded into visibility in Ginny's other hand. It was entirely made of metal, with only little slits at either end to let air through. "Have you been carrying that the whole time?"

Ginny shrugged. "I'm pretty good at invisibility, but it was kind of hard not to walk funny and clang into things."

"And the cat is going to be in that for three days?" Hermione asked skeptically.

Ginny stared at the cage for a long moment. "I know, it's not ideal, but Charlie uses it for baby dragons, and it was the best I could come up with on short notice."

"Alright," Hermione finally said. It really was none of her business. She felt bad for the cat, but she supposed a few days in a miserable cage would be better than whatever fate apparently awaited it at the hands of this evil caretaker.

"What I need you for is to watch the door once I go through. From the inside, it opens whenever anyone gets near, even a cat. I don't think I'll have any trouble, but just in case he gets by me, this is the only way out."

Nervously picturing a furious ball of fleeing fur and claws and still wondering where this so-called door was, Hermione asked, "Have any more of that powder?"

Ginny reached in the pocket of her robes, then let out a muffled curse. "I must've left it with Luna. She was supposed to help me with this, but her dad pulled her out early to chase some crumpled-horn snort-beast. Think you'll be okay without it?"

Not wanting to let her down, Hermione managed a nervous nod, working in her mind to think of the proper color for a sleep charm… and the proper strength to subdue a potentially magical creature.

"Excellent," Ginny said with a grin. Stretching out a hand, she ran her fingers over the yellow pear in the painting, and Hermione watched in fascination as it let out a mildly disturbing giggle and turned into a door handle. "Wish me luck!"

Once Ginny disappeared, Hermione cautiously maneuvered the metal cat – or, er, dragon – carrier right up against the side of the "door" she now knew would crack open, hoping any frantically fleeing creature would just run right into it.

Instead, after perhaps the longest three minutes of Hermione's life, the door knocked the cage aside as it swung wide and a fluffy streak of ginger and tan leapt over the top of the metal and directly into Hermione's chest, digging its claws into her robes and clambering wildly up to perch on her shoulder, hissing furiously at the rather disheveled Ginny emerging in his wake. "You got him!" she gasped.

Wincing as she felt claws flexing against the surface of her skin, Hermione muttered, "I think he got me, actually."

Ginny laughed. "Better than I did anyway. He knocked the powder right out of my hand and I was so busy trying to keep it out of some poor first year's soup that I had to banish it."

As she spoke, Ginny was approaching the quivering feline with an outstretched palm. The cat revealed exactly how he felt about the gesture of peace by taking a swipe at her with a paw. She backed up. "Think you can get him in the cage?"

Hermione was somewhat preoccupied with trying to keep an eye on those deadly claws in her peripheral vision, but she crouched down near the carrier. The claws dug in and Hermione cursed. "Apparently not," she muttered, standing again. To her astonishment, the claws retracted completely, and the orange beast stretched calmly out across her shoulders, lying down and purring loudly against her ear.

"Blimey," said Ginny. "He likes you!"

Hermione reached up a tentative hand to scratch behind the cat's ears, and the purring increased. "I guess he does."

"Why don't you take him, then?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"I just want him out of the castle, and if he leaves on your shoulders that's fine by me."

"That's not going to be possible," she answered dryly. She imagined the raggedy orange beast let loose on all the pristine new furniture in Black Manor and laughed aloud. "Let's just say I don't live in a pet-friendly home."

Ginny offered an appraising look. "Do you live with Andy?"

Blinking at the casual shortening of her lover's name, Hermione figured it wasn't some great secret, and nodded.

"Let's ask her, then!"

Despite her protests, Hermione soon found herself standing outside the gargoyle once again, weighed down by a pile of slumped cat still purring despite a rather bumpy ride up the series of staircases. "This is never going to work," Hermione hissed when they stood outside the office doors, but Ginny merely grinned and knocked.

Not even waiting for an answer, Ginny strolled in. McGonagall was caught in the middle of a clearly angry glare at Andromeda, who looked relieved at the interruption. "Sorry we're early, Professor. I just wanted to make sure I got to say a proper hello to Andy before they left."

Hermione hovered in the doorway, now even more confused as to how this Hogwarts student was on an abbreviated first name basis with her… employer.

"It's good to see you, Ginny. Any news of Teddy?"

A few things began to click into place. She had a vague recollection of an earlier conversation about Harry Potter, the Weasley family, and a grandson named Teddy. She tried not to let the reminder that she was dating a grandmother feel too strange.

"You should stop by The Burrow and see him over break." Ginny laughed. "I heard Mum and Harry took him to the London Zoo this weekend and had to leave early because he kept sprouting a pig snout."

Andromeda's smile turned bittersweet. "An early bloomer, just like Nymphadora," she whispered.

The cat chose that moment to make his presence known, sitting up on Hermione's shoulder and nearly deafening her with an ungodly yowl, startling everyone in the room.

"What in Merlin's name is on you?" Andromeda asked, caught immediately in a staring contest with the flat-faced feline.

McGonagall looked more amused than surprised. "Ah, the bandy-legged pest Argus has been blathering about. It seems quite taken with you, Miss Granger."

"My thoughts exactly, Professor," Ginny interjected, attempting to sidle closer to Hermione and earning a hiss of warning. Staying a safer distance away, she added, "I actually hoped she might be able to take Filch's problem off his hands."

From the quirk to McGonagall's lips, she knew exactly what Ginny was proposing… and it probably wasn't the first time such an odd dilemma had found its way to her office. "That creature is neither my responsibility, nor my concern. That being said, it is my personal opinion that there is no better familiar than a Kneazle, and should Miss Granger be inclined to leave with it, she has my blessing."

There it was, that disapproval still simmering in McGonagall's tone as she aimed her words towards Andromeda. To Hermione's astonishment, Andromeda looked rather abashed, a hint of shame furrowing her brow before she willfully straightened and turned back towards Hermione. "If it bites me, it leaves," she said.

Hermione, prepared to explain that she had never even intended to ask if she could keep the thing at all, found herself stammering a question instead. "Wait, you mean I can keep him?"

Andromeda offered a wry smile. "I don't see why not."

_Well then_, Hermione mused as everyone began saying their goodbyes. _Looks as though I'd better read up on how to take care of a cat._

* * *

><p>The cat was remarkably cooperative, staying calm through their Disapparition before hopping down in the manor driveway and waddling off into the grass. It was the first time Hermione had gotten a clear look at him, and she was amused to see just how endearingly lopsided the creature was, from his crooked, bottle-brush tail to the bowlegged stride with which he walked. <em>Crookshanks<em>, she thought. _A proper wizarding name._

Andromeda informed the elves about the newest addition to their household, and though Hermione felt bad adding anything else to their workload, the pair actually seemed quite taken with the idea of having a household pet, even if it was a rather monstrous ginger cat, and promised to make sure he didn't go hungry. Andromeda even gave them permission to install an enchanted cat door in the side entrance by the kitchen.

* * *

><p>The manor felt impossibly quiet after the bustling halls of Hogwarts, but Hermione felt more comfortable that way. She'd never been much of one for crowds, and even with everything that had happened since she arrived here, she appreciated her relative solitude. She spent a long time on dinner, stuffing manicotti shells with ricotta and kale and dusting the top with parmesan and herbs, convincing herself that the best way to brush off the burning-scare would be to make something she loved far too much to chicken out on. The elves were back on delivery duty, so Hermione was able to have a peaceful, intimate meal with Andromeda in the kitchen.<p>

In all the cat commotion, it wasn't until Hermione was already halfway up the stairs for the night that she realized she had forgotten to ask what McGonagall had said that had Andromeda so clearly on edge. It didn't really matter, Hermione mused, since her lover had promised she'd be along upstairs in a little while. As long as Hermione managed to keep her clothes on, she should have plenty of time to ask a few questions.

Pushing the door open, Hermione froze.

There, sitting on her bed as calm as could be, was Bellatrix. Petting Crookshanks.

Intellectually, Hermione realized Bellatrix must have come down sometime in the past few hours since she and Andromeda returned, but as she stood there, she couldn't seem to shake the idea that Bellatrix had been lying in wait all day long, a patient pit viper setting an ambush.

"Hello, pet."

For once, Hermione wasn't frightened. She was angry. "What are you doing here? No, I don't even care. Get out." This damn witch was _not _going to ruin another evening.

Bellatrix pouted. "Cissy came to see me today."

"I don't care," Hermione replied, stepping inside and holding the door wide open.

Bellatrix ignored her. "Sometimes I forget she plays better mind games than I do."

"Out," Hermione ordered again.

"Even while she was getting all wonderfully riled up over you, she said something… interesting."

The casual, almost playful tone was beginning to grate on Hermione's nerves.

"She said, _'You know Bella, you're an idiot. Sometimes I don't even think you're trying. If you really wanted to get rid of her, you'd just tell her the truth!'_" Her imitation of Narcissa's cold fury was uncanny.

"I mean it, Bellatrix. You can't be in here," Hermione tried one last time, though she was being slowly drawn into the story against her will.

Still, Bellatrix carried on as though Hermione had never spoken. "Even if she only meant it to be rude… I got to thinking that my little sister might just have a point." Bellatrix rose and took three quick steps closer to Hermione.

"Andromeda will be here any minute," she insisted defensively, glancing towards the door. "You don't want to be here."

"You think my sister's just the perfect little angel, don't you?" Bellatrix's voice dropped low and dark. "You think she's the moral pillar holding up some teetering house of Black family corruption and evil." She laughed.

Not that it was any of Bellatrix's concern, but Hermione most certainly knew Andromeda was no angel. Hermione just… didn't mind all that much.

"She wants to kill me, though."

Hermione's eyes widened. Bellatrix's voice had lost all inflection, no longer a childish taunt or an ominous warning. These words were flat, raw, and dangerous. "W-what?"

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed, but she seemed to realize she now had Hermione's attention. Deliberately, she turned and paced back over to the bed. "Your precious Andromeda, my darling sister… She wants me dead—" Bellatrix mimed stabbing a knife into her own heart and collapsed backwards onto the mattress, twitching. After a long moment, she sat up, staring into Hermione's eyes with a fire the young witch felt might roast her alive "—and you just fit so perfectly into her plans."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **So sorry, lovelies. First real life caught up, then Swan Queen Week, then real life again. This was supposed to be a graduation present for someone and… let's pretend we're not a month late, eh? Anyway, I had lots of requests for a Hogwarts chapter and a few requests for Crookshanks… good thing I was already planning both (:

I've got a fic-a-thon in July again and I also just got a new job, so no guarantees on update speed, but hopefully it will be better than last year when I disappeared for six months… If I do, feel free to take out your annoyance and rage on me; I take it as a compliment, and as motivation.

All the best,

- Zarrene.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in past and future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Andromeda, Hermione/Narcissa.

* * *

><p>Hermione shook her head. "No, of course she doesn't. She doesn't want you dead; she saved you! She—"<p>

Bellatrix snorted. "Indeed. And she's regretted it each day since." She rose, pacing past Hermione to stand by the door. "She looks at me every day and all she can think is _why didn't I let them kill her._"

Hermione was still shaking her head, protests waiting at the back of her throat for a pause, but Bellatrix wasn't finished.

"I killed her daughter, you know? I killed her precious little baby. _Nymphadora_. What a ridiculous name."

The protests shriveled and died before they could leave Hermione's mouth.

"Didn't find out until it was too late, of course. Not till well after the battle," Bellatrix sneered. "Tried to kill me as soon as she did, but it takes more than a little anger to off me. After the trial, well… My Andy's not daft. She knows the Ministry would be on her in a heartbeat and it'd be off to Azkaban as fast as they could say, 'We didn't sign off on this!' You know how the Ministry bastards are about killing," she added conspiratorially, circling around Hermione towards the bed again before stepping closer. "Pussies, the lot of them," she hissed.

Hermione was still reeling over the knowledge that Bellatrix had been the one to kill Andromeda's daughter. How could she not have known that?

"She can't just kill me and she knows it," Bellatrix added, continuing to close the distance between herself and Hermione's frozen figure. "If I disappear, she's off to prison, so if she can't kill me as me… she'll need to kill me as someone else." She was painfully close now, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to step away, afraid any motion would shatter Bellatrix's revealing mood. "No one would notice a little street urchin like you went missing; all my sister needs is a body. Even if it means seducing a pretty little Mudblood to loan me one—" Bellatrix reached out, tracing a finger up along Hermione's arm to settle against the rapid pulse beating in her throat. "—and take my place anytime the Ministry decides to come snooping around." She sniffed in derision. "Polyjuice… what a dreadful little invention."

Hermione's world was spinning about her. Her mouth hung open in denial as she staggered back a pace, away from the older witch. "N-no, she—"

"Ah-ah, pet. She doesn't need your body now, don't you worry your pretty little head about that. No, my sister thinks she's so _clever_. Thinks she's found something in you. No, she just needs your magic. I shan't take it, though," she hissed, voice gone from chillingly lighthearted to stabbingly cold in a matter of seconds. "I won't have your mettlesome Mudblood fingers anywhere near my magic."

"You're lying," Hermione gasped out, backing up against the door. The picture Bellatrix had painted was far more than unsettling. "Andy, she… she would never… She cares about—"

"Who, you?" Bellatrix cackled. "What, did she say she _wuvs_ _you_?" A flash of old anger, old pain darted across the older witch's face. "My sister only cares about herself."

Hermione could feel something dark and ugly clawing its way up her throat and she had to get out. Her hand scrabbled uselessly against the door until she clutched the doorknob, squeezing the life out of the metal as she ripped it open and stumbled out, Bellatrix's brittle laughter echoing behind her.

She lurched down the nearest hall, no destination in mind, desperate to get away from the ideas the eldest Black had planted in her mind. Fragments of Andromeda's words echoed around in her skull and mingled with Bellatrix's laughter until Hermione's crumpled against the nearest wall, breath leaving her in gasps as she stared, unseeing, out the window into the night. _I've made you all these promises … "_She wants to kill me"_ … I'm afraid I'm a bit of a fraud … "_Only cares about herself"_ … I haven't always been able to protect the people I care about from Bellatrix … _"I killed her daughter, you know?" … _She's Bellatrix. She doesn't need a reason to do anything._

"Hermione?"

She wasn't ready for the concern in Andromeda's voice. She wasn't ready to look up and see compassion and confusion in her eyes. If she had more time… more time to talk herself out of how much truth she felt in Bellatrix's voice… more time to remind herself that there was no reason to trust a convicted Death Eater over her lover… but there wasn't time, and Hermione was panicking.

Andromeda knelt before her and reached to brush Hermione's hair from her face.

"Don't touch me!" Hermione gasped out, jerking back. Seeing the instant hurt in Andromeda's face, she spoke again. "Just… don't. Not right now."

"Are you hurt? Did something happen?" When Hermione didn't immediately respond, Andromeda added, "Has Bella done something again?"

For a long moment, Hermione didn't speak, staring blankly into the face of the woman she had come to trust more than anyone else in the world. "Bellatrix killed your daughter," she said.

Andromeda flinched back.

"Didn't she?" Hermione amended.

Andromeda slowly shook her head, no longer meeting Hermione's eyes. "Where did you hear that?"

"She told me."

Andromeda's hand clenched into a fist. "Whatever my sister had to say on the matter is rubbish."

"It's true, then?" Hermione choked out. Part of her wanted to offer condolences, to shake off the numbing fear that lingered in every part of her mind and reach out to Andromeda, but first, she needed answers.

"It's true," Andromeda hissed out through clenched teeth, finally rising and pacing across the hall.

When nothing more seemed forthcoming, Hermione started the next inquiry. "Did you… after that, were you… did you—" she couldn't bring herself to make the accusation, couldn't bring herself to verify anything more Bellatrix had said, couldn't bring herself to ask if her lover was nearly a murderer.

Andromeda answered all the same, spinning back to face the younger witch with fire in her eyes. "Did I what, did I try to kill her? Is that what she's told you? Did she tell you what she did, how she hunted my daughter through the whole battle just to spite me? How, as soon as I convinced the others not to kill her, she told me what she had done, taunting me with how many times she was able to torture Nymphadora, how many times she made my daughter scream before she killed her… laughing all the while? Did she tell you that it took six Aurors to stop me from Crucio-ing her to death?" Andromeda was shaking, and her voice broke audibly as she continued. "Did she tell you that I tried to keep Nymphadora home that night, or that I wasn't there at the battle because she wanted to fight beside her husband, so I stayed behind, watching her newborn son? That I can hardly even stand to visit my grandson anymore because all I can see when I look at him is one more reason my daughter isn't alive?" She drew in an agonizing breath and turned away, pressing her forehead and an open, shaking palm against the glass of the window.

Hermione stood on trembling legs, crossing the distance between them but unwilling to offer comfort quite yet.

"Do you—do you still want, after all this time—"

"I _hate_ her," Andromeda hissed. "Every day I see her I hate her for all the things she's taken away from me and… I need her out of my life. Out of this house. It—It's something I… I wanted to talk to you about it, but not like this, I…"

There it was. Everything Bellatrix had said. That image, staying here forever, playing the role of the eldest Black at any given moment to enable Andromeda to… to make it simple for her to… kill her. Get her "out of this house."

_She wants me dead… and you just fit so perfectly into her plans._

For the first time, anger began to rise through Hermione's shocked confusion. "You – you've been lying to me all this time?"

"What?" Andromeda asked, flinching at Hermione's accusative tone and turning her head towards the younger woman.

"You wanted to _talk to me?_ You wanted me to, to what, to take her place?"

"What? No, Hermione! I—"

"—What? You what? You've been using me! All of this was nothing but a ploy to get Bellatrix off your hands? Dammit, Andromeda, I thought you might actually have cared." Her voice broke. "More the fool am I. Why, I suppose you only kissed me that first day because you were afraid I'd run, was that it? Did I ever mean _anything_ to you?" Hermione rubbed harshly at her eyes as though her palms could push back her tears.

"No! Oh, Hermione, no! Heavens no," Andromeda was insisting, trying to push her way through Hermione's words with vicious denial. She tried to reach out, to take her hand, but Hermione clenched her fingers into fists and turned her back.

"Leave," she rasped, voice hoarse with tears, but when the other witch made no move to go, Hermione pushed past her, moving blindly back towards her chambers.

"Hermione, please, give me a chance to explain," Andromeda implored, following her too closely for Hermione to shut the door in her face.

"Get out," she whispered, trying to put force into it despite shaking shoulders. "Just, leave me alone; let me… let me breathe." After a weighty pause, she heard the fall of reluctant footsteps starting to retreat, but realized she wasn't quite finished.

"Is that why you slept with me?" Hermione called after her, voice broken. "Did you f-fuck me just to keep me here peacefully, so I would let you turn me into your sister anytime the Ministry came poking around without having to go through the mess of keeping someone locked up in your attic any more? Is that it?"

"Is that what my sister told you?" Andromeda asked softly. When Hermione turned towards her, the older witch stood in the doorway, unable to face her, hands clenched on the edges of the door frame, head low, shoulders taut and shuddering. "No," she whispered. "I slept with you because you were teaching me to be human again. Because the moment I saw your face light up with joy when you cast the first spell you didn't know, I knew I could never go through with anything like I once though I… thought I needed to. I slept with you because I fell in love, Hermione." Andy's voice was empty, hollow, but every few shuddering breaths, a tear splashed down onto the stone beneath her feet with a tiny, helpless sound, as though the floor wanted to swallow up the sorrow and regret it represented.

Hermione stared at the back of Andromeda's head for a long time, biting cruelly at her lip to hold in her own sobs. She wanted to be angry, not sad. She could justify anger. Sorrow was too raw. Finally, she managed to speak. "I thought I was dying to hear those words from you. I thought you were everything I ever wanted. Now… now I'm dying to just be able to trust you again, but I don't know that I ever will."

As she turned away once more, she felt arms wrap around her waist, palms flat against her stomach. Hermione didn't have the strength to pull away from the familiar warmth, the safety she could still feel in that strong, sure, gentle embrace. Still, it was that very safety which felt so deceitful now, so false. "Go," she whispered, voice utterly defeated.

"Please," Andromeda whispered. "Please, I never meant to—"

Hermione laughed, then, a dark, broken sound so utterly unlike her that it caused the elder witch to flinch.

"Oh, the bitter irony," Hermione gasped. "That in the end, even after everything your sister has done, it would be you who wanted to abuse me."

Andromeda's arms jerked back as though burned, but she slipped around Hermione's side and faced her, finding an emptiness in the younger woman's eyes that finally told her to give up. "Fine," she murmured. "I'll go. But I'm still here, Hermione. Please, if you won't hear anything else… what we had was real." She shook her head. "I meant to use you, my lovely girl, but well before our first kiss, I knew I would never do it."

She pressed a kiss to Hermione's unresponsive lips, something hard and desperate that drew nothing from the younger witch. Pulling back, Andromeda managed a light kiss to the back of each of Hermione's tear-dampened eyelids, then she was gone, leaving Hermione to slide down the wall and wrap her arms around her knees, shuddering breaths echoing through her empty chambers, tears tracing salted tracks down the collar of her robes.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?"

A gleefully grinning Bellatrix emerged from Hermione's bathroom wrapped in a fluffy robe Hermione was certain had never before been seen anywhere in the house, hair hanging long and wet, dripping audibly onto the floor.

"No," Hermione said, completely at wit's end and unwilling to deal with any more of the eldest Black's mind games tonight. "Whatever you're still doing here, get out."

"No?" Bellatrix pouted. "But I've only just taken my shower. Can't go traipsing about the house with our hair all wet now can we?"

Irritation quickly overcoming her tears, Hermione yanked her wand out of her sleeve. Bellatrix flinched back visibly and Hermione felt a rush of power at the idea she might have actually scared the other witch, but she had no intention of hurting her. With a quick gesture, Hermione dried Bellatrix's hair in a wordless, nameless bit of magenta magic. Bellatrix looked startled for a moment, reaching up and patting her hair before shrugging and sitting on the edge of Hermione's bed. "No matter." An entirely self-satisfied grin returned to her face. "That there was quite the little show. I'll have to thank Cissy for the tip. Haven't seen my sister that riled since, well…" She gave Hermione a conspiratorial wink. "You know. All the other times I've had fun with you."

"You disgust me," Hermione spat. It wasn't enough for Bellatrix to entirely shatter her relationship with Andromeda, but now here she was, gloating.

"Feeling's mutual, pet."

Rising on shaking legs, Hermione stormed over to the closet and ripped it open. "Fine. You know what? Fine. You win! I'm leaving. I'm done with all of this." She yanked her few belongings – though far more than she'd had upon arrival – down from rack and flung them, hangars and all, into the suitcase beneath the bed. Grabbing her cloak and ignoring Bellatrix's mocking, celebratory applause, she stormed towards the door. Halfway through, she stopped, turning back to stare at the madwoman on her bed. "I was never wrong, was I? All you even know how to do is torture people."

The smile on the other witch's face faltered.

"And of all the bollocks you spouted today, you have no right to mock your sister for being self-serving," she snapped.

Bellatrix shrugged, face expressionless. "I think you're forgetting something, girl. I'm just trying to stay alive."

For a long moment, Hermione was trapped in the other woman's stare, stunned by those raw words. There was an impossible moment between them where, for the first time, Hermione saw nothing but sanity in the depths of those dark eyes, heard her voice speak without a hint of her usual mocking, jaded, childish pride. As she broke free and hurried off down the hallway, she remembered some of the first words Andromeda had offered about her older sister. "_She's insane… illogical… unaware of common sense. But she is also the most cunning survivor I've crossed paths with."_

Picturing the cold rage in Andromeda's voice when she told Hermione what she had nearly done after she heard about her daughter, Hermione almost regretted leaving them alone together. Some part of her, even now, wanted nothing more than to offer whatever distraction, whatever escape she could to this scarred, broken family. A larger part of her, however, knew she had gotten in far, far too deep, and the only way back out again was to go home.

If the blasted gate would let her leave.

Though she had hardly left the property since her arrival at the manor, Hermione had been through the gates more than a handful of times, and it was never more than a matter of waving them open with her wand. Tonight, however, every possible manner of spell had been tried and failed, bound and unbound magic alike. The darkness had crept in around her and the silent, cursed grounds were eerie in the faint moonlight, and by the time Andromeda found her again, she had resorted to pounding futilely against the iron.

"You can't leave."

"I can see that," Hermione snapped, forehead slumped against the bars. "Let me out."

Andromeda shook her head. "Can't. It's old magic. No one with bad intentions towards the family can leave, not until they have no intention of harming us."

Hermione's automatic response was indignation. Even after tonight, she could never imagine actually wishing harm on any of them. Looking farther within herself, however, Hermione slowly realized that, in the back of her mind, she had a lingering thought of telling someone, of warning the Ministry just what Andromeda intended to do to Bellatrix. Drawing in a deep breath, she calmed herself.

"Very well. I—I can't mean you any harm. I swear it. I can't blame you for… for how you feel towards Bellatrix. I'm not a mother. Maybe I'd have snapped, too. I won't tell anyone, I won't try to stop you, but I don't have as little self-respect as you seem to think. I won't be part of it, of any of this. I'm not going to let myself be used. For murder or… otherwise."

With those final words, Hermione flicked her wand at the gates again. They creaked open for her unhindered. Without looking back, she took two steps beyond the wall before daring something she'd never had the courage to try, pulling up a swirl of deep blue from the depths of her mind and into her wand, Disapparating away from the closest she'd ever felt to real happiness.

* * *

><p>Her mother's apartment was better furnished than before she'd left, though it was hard not to make comparisons to the lap of luxury where she'd spent the past few months. Still, it was clear whatever part of her salary had been sent here had made a difference. There was new carpeting in the bedroom and cork flooring in the kitchen, as well as a cheery new coat of paint on all the walls.<p>

It was wonderful to see her mum again, to help her cook supper and listen to her chatter on about the Muggle knitting club she'd joined. She didn't want to talk about her job yet and her mother didn't press the matter. It was a welcome reprieve. Even if, growing up, she'd had more than her share of moments wishing for her real parents, part of Hermione knew she'd ended up with a wonderful family, and she was glad she'd been able to give her mum this new stability. That night, she fell asleep in her old room, a crimson scarf her mum had knitted – "Only had to use magic a few times. It's not cheating if it's just to work out the knots," she insisted_ –_ wrapped about her neck.

They paid a visit to St. Mungo's the next day. It was immediately clear the money she'd earned hadn't done as much good here. He was in a nicer room now, with two whole windows and a full-time personal mediwizard, but her dad was still dying, and it was clear he was going fast. He spent almost the entirety of Hermione's visit asleep, only waking briefly to ask for water and smile up at them in dubious recognition.

Watching her mother sit beside him, talking softly about her day and holding his hand as though nothing had changed was one of the more painful things Hermione had seen in her life. She had always felt there were two types of people when it came to loved ones dying… those who stood by them till the end, holding on to whatever was left until every inch of it was completely gone, and those who pulled back, drawing away as soon as it became clear that what remained of the person they loved was little more than a human shell of illness and looming loss. Part of her wished she could be the first sort, could look down at the cot and see the man who had raised her all these years, but a larger part of her knew that man had passed away long ago, and whatever her mum still held on to wasn't so much her husband, but his memory.

Between that visit and the events of the day prior, Hermione was trapped in deep, lingering melancholy. It was alright for a few days, sitting quietly in their worn, familiar armchair by the fire with a book she could finally afford to buy, losing herself in magic-lore and the mundane reality of everyday life, but too soon her mum wanted to have friends over for tea – her friends, not Hermione's – and Hermione wasn't ready to be shown off. She didn't want to sit through prodding questions and side-eyed stares, as though her life were a creature in a cage at the zoo, and she knew that was precisely what would happen. Still, she went through the motions, dashing to the store for biscuits while her mum put the kettle on, but when the doorbell rang and she heard the first half-familiar voice exclaim over the new décor and Hermione's mysterious job, she slipped out the back, standing for a long moment on the fire escape balcony before using a bit of magic to hop down to the street below.

It was a long walk from St. Mungo's to Diagon, but Hermione needed the time to clear her head. Everything had happened so quickly in the past few days. One morning she was waking up in Andromeda's arms and the next evening she was running away. Everything between was a bit of a blur, from the distinct sense that Andromeda was hiding something from her in McGonagall's office to Bellatrix's taunting words. Nothing seemed ready to pull into focus, especially since, even though Andromeda hadn't exactly denied her sister's accusations, something still didn't add up. It was such an elaborate, calculated farce. How far back must it have gone? Did Andromeda go to the Ministry that first day, not really to get permission for a housekeeper, but just for an excuse to have another body in her home, someone to help take Bellatrix out of the picture? The magic lessons… just another trick to help things appear more authentic? Could anyone really be so cold, so calculating?

As she passed the many shops she'd frequented in her childhood, Hermione was surprised to see holiday decorations in the windows. She had forgotten how close it was to Christmas. She treated herself at the chestnut stall in the hopes of putting herself in the holiday spirit, but her mind kept drifting hopelessly back to Black Manor. Would the elves decorate for the holidays, or was the Black family as entirely oblivious to the passing time as she had been? Was there any room for celebration in a nest already full to the brim with deceit?

Stopping in Madam Malkin's to find a Christmas present for her mum, Hermione realized just how few people she had in her life worth noting. Her childhood friends, as few and far between as they had been, were off in the real world, making a living for themselves that didn't involve being employed by a family of Death Eaters. With her dad nearly gone, her mum was just about the only person left in her life who would even notice if she just… disappeared. Bellatrix was right; no one would ever have noticed if she had never returned from living under Andromeda's thumb.

Despite the warming spells she'd enchanted into the lining of her cloak, Hermione felt a chill race up her spine. She'd never quite been faced by how inconsequential she was until this moment, and it wasn't a pleasant realization.

She wandered into Flourish and Blotts in search of distraction. She found far more than that.

"Hermione!"

Hermione blanched at the sight of the youngest Black sister rounding the corner of the nearest shelf, perfectly poised as ever, heels clicking harshly against the wood. A quiet curse slipped between Hermione's lips and she took a few hasty steps away before realizing it was far too late to feign ignorance and dash off. "Lady Malfoy," she whispered, eyes darting towards the ground, the shelving… anywhere but the witch in front of her.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake; call me Narcissa."

Hermione said nothing.

"Hermione. Look at me."

Reluctantly, Hermione obeyed, meeting those pale blue eyes she had once thought some of the coldest she'd ever seen, but which had come to reveal much more to her over the past months. "Why are you here?" she asked cautiously.

"Holiday shopping. Same as you, I presume," Narcissa replied. She held a single, leather-bound book in her hand. Hermione caught sight of the word "_Ceremonies_" on the spine before the book disappeared, tucked into the crook of Narcissa's elbow.

"Oh," Hermione replied, not at all sure what else there was to say to the sister of the woman she had just severed ties with. Theirs was hardly a relationship worthy of exchanged pleasantries. Narcissa, however, had no interest in ending the encounter at a few brisk words.

"I'll not waste either of our time. You disappeared. You left a yowling beast in our house, Andromeda hasn't left her chambers in days… even Bella is singing for joy in the corridors, and… and no one will tell me why on earth you left."

Beneath the frank words, Hermione detected a hint of pained humor, as well as a touch of genuine concern. She winced in sympathy at the image of Bellatrix's smug singing as well as the monstrous cat she had entirely forgotten about in her haste to leave, but it was the image of Andromeda hiding from the world which hit her hardest. The questions in Narcissa's eyes deserved an answer, but Hermione wasn't sure how to give one. Reluctantly, she admitted, "You were right, you know? You were right all along." Then, to her own intense embarrassment, she started crying again. She immediately looked away, wiping furiously at her eyes with the sleeve of her robes.

"In what regard?" Narcissa asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"All of it," she whispered, voice hoarse, then cleared her throat. "The day you… the day you found out about… us, you tried to warn me. You said… you said something about Bellatrix, about how impossible it was for either of you to be free of her, about how she affected everything that happens in your lives." She sniffed, turning back cautiously towards Narcissa. "At the time I thought… All I could imagine was how she trapped you at home, kept you from having a normal moment in this world but… you were right. It was always so much more than that."

Slowly, comprehension dawned on the other witch's face. She raised a hand, hovering aimlessly in midair between them before lowering gently to clasp Hermione's forearm. "Come," she said, drawing Hermione between the stacks towards one of the bookstore's many shadowed sitting nooks. "Sit. Tell me."

The moment the comfy armchair wrapped its overstuffed arms around her, words began spilling from her mouth. Disjointed, barely coherent, filled with worry over Narcissa's reaction, but words all the same. Dark, heavy with accusation and fear, but as honest as she could offer. Narcissa remained implacable throughout, sitting in silence, and in that moment, it was exactly what the younger woman needed. She needed to say it aloud, to try and piece things together, to justify the betrayal she felt, how broken her trust was. In some ways, Bella's words seemed more far-fetched in the light of day, far from the cloistered reality of life in Black Manor. "I still… even after all that, things just won't add up." In her mind, the pieces that wouldn't fell into place hovered distractingly, but she didn't speak them aloud. The conversation with McGonagall was chief among them. Hermione couldn't picture the venerable Headmistress privy to a murder plot, which meant there was something else Andromeda didn't want her to know, something about… what was the phrase? _Raw magic._

When Hermione didn't offer any more words, Narcissa finally replied. "Well then. I'm often surprised by just how determined my sister can be, but I can't say I'm shocked by this."

"Why didn't you _tell_ me, them?" Hermione asked, voice shrill. "How could you—"

"—Would you have listened?"

Hermione quieted.

Narcissa ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it into disarray and leaving her looking distinctly more disheveled than Hermione had ever seen the fair witch. "You were happy. I could have been wrong. I wasn't going to… I didn't want to ruin either your happiness or our tenuous… friendship, not just on my suspicions.

Calming marginally, Hermione nodded slowly, feeling a smile tremble on her lips at Narcissa's declaration of friendship. It was true. In the past few months sitting together in the library, Hermione had come to feel connected to the haughty, reserved witch in a way she never could have imagined, and hearing that the Lady felt the same was reassuring. "I'm sorry. I was lashing out, ma'am.

Narcissa spared her one of those rare, thin smiles – one of the real ones. "Please. It's Narcissa."

Slowly, Hermione nodded. "Narcissa," she echoed.

As quickly as the smile had come, it was gone, and in a flash, Narcissa's tone changed to something more serious. "Hermione, I need you to come back."

Hermione's spine straightened, immediately defensive.

"The situation at the manor is untenable at the moment and I can't fix it. I have – I have my own… difficulties to sort out."

Hermione shook her head. "You can't possibly think that Andromeda will want me living there again. Not after everything I said. I'm fired."

Narcissa arched an eyebrow. "She isn't the one signing your paychecks, you know."

Though she had heard a similar sentiment from Andromeda, it was Hermione's turn to offer a look of confusion. The inner workings of the Black family fortune weren't anywhere in her range of comprehension.

Narcissa gave a fragile, icy laugh. "Our mother left nothing to 'Dromeda. Despite my sister having the most freedom of us, I have complete control of the family fortune. Even with many of our assets caught up in Ministry shenanigans, I will always have financial independence. You haven't lost your job, Ms. Granger."

"I don't want it," she whispered. "Is that allowed? The three of you… I don't even know what to think anymore. Can I just, just this once, make a decision for myself? I—I'm tired of being a pawn."

Narcissa's stare hardened, staring through the widow at the sprawling mass of homes and street-side carts that made up the east side of Diagon. "You think you can be more here? You think you have any more control of your life in a place like this?"

Hermione's stiffened again. "Wealth and blood status isn't everything, you know." Some part of the younger witch was surprised by her own audacity. If there was one thing her twisted relationship with Andromeda had given her, it was a touch more self-respect.

Something flashed in Narcissa's eyes, fiery and dangerous. "Believe it or not, girl, I know that better than most." There was a brutal honesty in those words that struck a chord with the younger witch, and she couldn't help but look away. "There is no one in this godforsaken city more disillusioned with pure-blood culture than I."

Before Hermione could pull together a response, Narcissa had risen from her seat, wrapping herself in her elegant cloak and her high-born bearing as she prepared to leave. "Stay with your family for the Holidays if you must. Say goodbye to your father. I'm aware he has very little time left. But come January, I expect you to be over this nonsense with my sister, and I expect you to come home." She gave Hermione no chance to reject the command. "You're right about one thing. You don't have the full story. Andromeda is many things, but she isn't as cold-blooded as you are imagining in the moment. You two need to talk before either of you do something you will come to regret." Narcissa started to walk away, but she paused, staring deeply into Hermione's eyes. "I know you think you've made a mess of our lives. You couldn't be more wrong. You were starting to pull things together, but if you leave now…" Narcissa's voice cracked, her poise breaking. "It's all going to hell again."

With that, she was gone, and even though Hermione felt as though all the air had returned to the room with her passing, she still couldn't breathe easy. She paid for the two books she'd found in a daze, blinking blindly when the shopkeeper took her sickles with a smile and a perfunctory, "Happy Christmas Eve."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Sorry, all. I'm the worst, eh? Luckily I've now got a little devil on my shoulder (a college friend who sleuthed out this pseudonym and has caught up on reading my little HP adventure) to keep pestering me to write, and I can't run away from someone living under the same roof as me.

I've missed you all terribly.

Love, as always,

- Zarrene.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in past and future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Andromeda, Hermione/Narcissa.

* * *

><p>Not only was Hermione woefully underprepared for festivities, but Christmas at St. Mungo's was a study in just how impossible it was to celebrate surrounded by death and disease. The walk was bitterly cold, and trudging down near-empty streets lined on either side by glowing window-edged scenes of trees and presents and holiday joy was hardly a pleasant way to start the morning. The reception area was lit with giant glowing orbs of gold and crimson light, but the impression they created was of a half-hearted thought that tinting the sanitary glare of hospital light with shades of the season would somehow make it less sterile. Still, there was live holly in the doorways, garlands wrapped about every pillar, and snow-decked trees lining the halls to lend a touch of life to the cloistered chambers. The icicles dangling in the corners, however, were distinctly more ominous than they were pretty, clinking insistently together every time the opening or closing of a door sent a draft up to where they hung, precariously perched.<p>

There was nothing cheerful in sitting beside her mum as she opened presents for her husband, exclaiming over them quietly as though he would ever enjoy winter boots, chocolate frogs, or _Wizard's Wilderness Weekly_ again. He never so much as opened his eyes, breathing shallow and undisturbed throughout their visit.

Walking home after choking down St. Mungo's attempt at a holiday lunch, Hermione could feel the walls of London pressing in around her. She felt too big, the city too small, strangling her back into a silhouette of submission, into the drudgery of the mundane life she had lived before her time with the Blacks. As dark and strange as her months in the manor had been… Hermione had felt important there. Was it shallow to feel so cheated, so unfulfilled by a life she had once seen as… noble poverty? _It is not wealth, but the arrogance of wealth that offends the poor._ It was something her father had often said, but now… Hermione couldn't be offended by the Blacks' arrogance, nor did she covet their wealth. She just wanted… she wanted to feel that alive again. She wanted every human encounter to be weighty and rife with centuries of history and pride and war, to be surrounded by useless relics of a past she had never lived, to learn magic beyond her station or years and drift down halls amid air thick with meaning and words unsaid. Living there, it was… it was thrilling. It was dangerous. It was…

Hermione shook herself. It was not for her. She was never really part of that life. She never really belonged there, in the lives of _those_ people, and certainly not in Andromeda's bed. _Pure-bloods_, she thought, but there was little venom in it.

* * *

><p>"Not that it hasn't been nice to have you, dear, but when are you headed back to work?"<p>

It was two days into the New Year and Hermione hadn't left. She had tossed and turned all night, almost afraid something would happen to her for disobeying Narcissa's demand, but she had slept undisturbed, albeit fitfully, and woken to another dawn much the same as those of the past week.

Drawing in a deep breath and taking the whistling kettle off the heat, Hermione replied, "I'm not going back, Mum."

"I'm sorry, what was that? I didn't quite catch it." Emerging from the pantry with an arched eyebrow, her mum's response was tense and confused.

Shaking her head, Hermione repeated herself. "I quit. Things got… a little odd. It wasn't the right place for me."

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about? They were paying you like a queen!"

Hermione poured the hot water into two cups with a shrug. "I need something new. Don't worry; I'll start looking again soon."

"Hermione!"

The vitriol in her mother's voice made her spill the scalding water on her robes. A wordless spell and a flash of blue banished the water before it could burn her, but she glared up at her mother all the same. "Mum! What?"

Hermione was surprised to see her mother's hands visibly shaking as she reached for her tea. "Hermione Jean Granger. I did not raise you to be a quitter. I'm astonished that you would turn your back on an opportunity like this. And with such a… prestigious family."

"They're Death Eaters, Mum." It wasn't as though her mother didn't know who she was working for. Once the money had started coming in, Hermione had been less than cautious with the names of her employers, and anyone who hadn't been living in a cave for the past year knew who the Blacks were.

She took a nervous sip of her tea. "Yes, well… not all that unusual is it? Lots of… perfectly respectable witches and wizards were… a bit misguided during the war. And look how well they've treated you!"

Hermione's eyes widened. "You haven't the slightest idea how I've been living, Mum. Just because you've been getting money doesn't mean I've had an easy time of it."

"You look well, dear. Much better than you did at the Ministry!"

Hermione couldn't deny that much. She had been fed, clothed, healed… honestly, she had been treated better than she ever could have imagined by at least part of the household, and many of the more precarious situations in which she'd found herself were entirely of her own making. But she had been lied to, emotionally manipulated… She had been working for a woman who thought there was nothing more to Hermione than what could be bought with money, magic, and sex, and she wasn't ready to go back to that.

"They aren't good people, Mum. Let's leave it at that."

"I've been saving up, you know? To buy a house. A real one. Out in Mould-on-the-Wold."

"What?"

"Once your father passes… Well, I haven't got any reason to stay in the city, have I? It would be so nice… a quaint little wizarding village. Perfect place to… to retire. To get old."

Hermione was startled. "That sounds wonderful, Mum."

"It's going to be costly, dear. I'd never be able to afford it without the money you've been sending. As is, I've got almost enough for the mortgage in the next two months or so, but if the money stops coming in…"

"Are you trying to guilt me into going back?" Hermione whispered, unwilling to make it an accusation but unable to stop the words from spilling out.

"Hermione, I—" She set down her tea and reached for Hermione's hand. "—I just wish you would reconsider. I even bought you a brand new set of housekeeping robes; cleansing charms in every stitch… you'd never even have to wash them."

As Hermione watched in silence, she bustled over to the closet and drew out a bag from Madam Malkin's. She pulled out the nondescript black robes and displayed them with pride, smiling insistently at her adopted daughter.

"Is that all you can see me in, Mum?" Hermione asked hoarsely. "Is that all you can see me doing, forever? Keeping house, cooking and cleaning?"

"Oh, of course not, dear!" her mother was quick to reply, but the cheery tone was thin and tinny. "It's just, well… you haven't exactly got the schooling for much else."

"Whose fault is that, then?" Hermione snapped. Seeing the hurt in her mother's eyes, however, she cringed, backtracking quickly. "You know I didn't mean that. I just… I need you to hear me. I need you to listen to me when I say that I can't go back there."

"Why, Hermione? You haven't told me a thing about them! Did you leave or… did they let you go?"

"Not exactly."

"What, then? Talk to me. You've been so quiet since you got here; I haven't known what to think."

Shuddering, not meeting her mother's eyes, Hermione allowed the most abstract of the betrayals she felt to spill from her lips. "The Blacks are… they're an old family. Set in their ways. Dangerous. Andromeda... Lucius… Bellatrix… they're predatory, the lot of them. There wasn't one moment when they saw me as a person. I was just a toy, a part of their games; I was something they could use against each other. From the very beginning, Mum, my life was on the line and I didn't even know it. There were things going on in that house that I could never come to understand in a century, and if I figured out even a few of them, you'd never have seen me again."

"Hermione, dear, don't you think you're being… a bit dramatic?"

Hermione stared at her blankly.

"Of course they have secrets, dear. Everyone does. That hardly means they were going to kill you. Were you indiscreet?"

"Was I _what?_"

"Is that why you won't return? You've said something you shouldn't have?"

"No! This isn't about me at all! Have you not heard a word I've been saying?"

"I heard you, Hermione, I just can't understand why you would give up all this money on some silly whim. It isn't as though you haven't been around pure-bloods before. You know what those families are like. It can't be any worse than the Ministry."

Hermione's mouth hung open in shock. In that moment, Hermione hardly recognized the woman who raised her. After everything she'd said, all she seemed able to focus on was the apparently insurmountable idea that the money might run dry. "Actually, it can," Hermione choked out. "I know _exactly_ what 'those families' are like and I know I don't want my life anywhere near them. Not anymore."

"This isn't just about your life, Hermione!"

"No, of course not. It never has been, has it? It's never been about my life, from the first time you had me clean up after the customers to the moment you wouldn't send me to Hogwarts… none of this has ever been about my life!" This time, the hurt in the eyes a woman she'd come to see as her mother wasn't enough to stop her. "I've given _every minute of my life_ to you! Every choice I've ever made has been to help you, to protect you, to support you, and I've never once regretted it. I never saw taking care of you as a duty or a chore… I did it because I care about you! But guess what, Mum; there's a limit, and this is it." Yanking her coat off the hook by the door, Hermione drew out the key to her small Gringotts vault. "Here! Take it. Take everything I've got and go buy yourself a house in the countryside to start your new life. But that's it. That's it until I've got a new job. I've worked myself near starvation for you and I'd do it again, but I won't… I won't prostitute myself for you like this. I won't take an emotional beating every time I make a choice in my life. I won't let your need steal my sanity."

Her mother's fingers closed around the key before she started to speak. "Hermione, I—"

"—I don't think there's anything else to say right now," Hermione cut her off, drawing her wand and batting colors around in her mind until she shaped enough magic to pull her belongings down the stairs and into her luggage. "I'm sure I'll be back. Sometime." She tugged the new cleaning robes from her mother's limp fingers and shoved them in with the rest of her clothes, yanking the zipper viciously closed by hand. "Give dad a kiss for me."

The door effectively cut off any further words that might have been said.

She stood on their landing for quite some time, suitcase in hand, peering down the alley in either direction as she tried to summon a semblance of a plan. To her right laid St. Mungo's and the surrounding Muggle business center, to her left, Diagon, and straight ahead, more of Muggle London. Clutching her cloak tightly against the winter chill and the stark landscape of her thoughts, Hermione turned left.

* * *

><p>Diagon was quiet for a Thursday afternoon. A light snow had fallen on New Year's Eve, and despite the warmer days since, the rooftops were still dusted white. Without any real destination in mind, Hermione wandered along between the stores, remembering the many times she and the other Diagon urchins had been evicted from one shop or another for "making mischief." Pausing before Eeylops Owl Emporium, Hermione mused that, looking back, she knew the only mischief that sent her back to the curb while any number of other rowdy Hogwarts students continued to shop was the fact that she wasn't going to buy anything. Now, wrapped in the robes of any respectable adult witch of means, she could walk in uncontested, peruse the owls for a bit, and depart without a fuss. It was strange how surely her place in the world had been altered by just a few months on the Black estate.<p>

The temptation proved too great, so Hermione allowed herself to wander in, smiling up into the crowded rafters where the uncaged birds preened for potential customers. Her smile faltered when she remembered the two animals she had left behind at the manor. Crookshanks… poor creature. She hoped the elves were taking good care of him. As for her owl… she'd never even named the cursed thing. Feeling the overwhelming ache of missed opportunities, Hermione stopped and flipped open a heavy tome she spotted on the shelves of owl care books. _The Everywizard's Guide to Naming Your Furred, Frog-like, or Feathered Friend. _Amused to find a page on names for venomous creatures, Hermione's lips quirked up at the description for the name "Venze."

_From the ancient _Veceslav_ meaning "glory at any cost," _Venze _is the perfect brand for a familiar who will protect his master at any expense, even the destruction of others. Please note: _Everywizard's_ does not endorse the ownership of venomous or otherwise potentially lethal pets. _

Her massive bird was hardly venomous, but Hermione thought with a smile that Bellatrix would more than likely approve of a self-important, dangerous name like that.

Shaking her head as though the physical motion could chase away her thoughts, Hermione couldn't believe she was feeling nostalgic enough that any image of Bellatrix whatsoever could bring a smile to her face. Besides, she was never going to be able to name the bird now.

She returned quickly to the street, but no matter how far and how quickly she walked, her thoughts were never far behind.

So many windows… so many panes of glass to which she'd pressed her nose on numerous past occasions. Second Hand Books… Amanuensis Quills… Madam Primpernelle's… even Twilfitt and Tatting's, the most elite of the clothing stores in the alley, had borne more than one smudge from the envious stare of the Diagon children.

Farther down, well past Potage's Cauldron Shop and Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, sat their old inn. Hermione was mildly surprised to see the windows boarded up, the old sign hanging crooked from one rusted chain and plastered with demolition notices. Otherwise, it looked much the same, and Hermione couldn't resist creeping closer and peering through the slats. She quickly spotted the front desk with its tacky, kitschy forest scene carved into the wood paneling in the front. She had spent so many mornings there, curled up in the little space beneath the counter as her father handed out room keys and endless unsolicited advice to his customers. Too young to help out but too old for her mum to carry her around, she had been kept from being underfoot by a toy or two and the occasional mint her dad snuck from the complimentary bowl and down to her sticky, waiting fingers. It was their little secret from Mum.

She quickly retreated from the window when approaching footsteps made her nervous, but it was just a young couple, arm in arm, headed down towards the square. She noticed the advertisement box after their passing. Inside were flyers for the building to take the place of her last real home.

_Coming Soon_

_**The Leaky Cauldron. Second Locale.**_

_Grand Opening – March 1__st__ – Butterbeer: All You Can Drink!_

Staring down at the flier in her hand, Hermione remembered her time working underage for this very pub. People who thought the Blacks were the dregs of society had clearly never spent five minutes behind a bar after midnight. Honestly, maybe that was why she was angry. Because, in so many ways, her mum was right. The Ministry, her last family, the pub… all of it had been infinitely worse than her time with the Blacks… it had just never been about her. None of those jobs had ever meant a thing to her. They were, just as her mum imagined, nothing more than a way to make a living. What she had with the Blacks… it was personal. The good and the bad. Even beyond her relationship with Andromeda, Hermione had felt like she had a place inside those walls. The quiet moments with Narcissa in the library, the effort she'd made to help the House-Elves warm up to her, the moment she'd held Bellatrix's scarred wrist… the time she'd spent inside her head… Every one of those fragile moments meant something to her, something more than a paycheck and her mum's approving half-smile.

Staring up at the inn, Hermione let the flyer be carried off by the breeze. She closed her eyes on her childhood, drew in a shuddering breath heavy with magic, and Apparated away.

* * *

><p>Outside of the gate to Black Manor once again, Hermione found herself face-to-face with an equally startled young man. "Who—"<p>

"Who the hell are you?" he asked before she could articulate her own question. In a flash, each had their wands out, tension rising between their outstretched arms.

"Hermione Granger," she replied with all the authority she could muster. "I work here." _At least, I hope I still do,_ her mind insisted on taunting her. "And you?"

The wand before her reluctantly lowered. "Draco Malfoy. I... lived here."

The moment the last name slipped between his lips, the familial resemblance struck Hermione like a physical blow. Slender build, stark, white-blond hair, cold grey eyes… he was a near perfect mirror of his mother.

Quickly lowering her wand, Hermione nodded in deference. "Sorry about that. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise, I'm sure," he muttered dryly. Introductions out of the way, the young Malfoy no longer appeared interested in pleasantries. "Shall we?" He gestured at the gate and it swung wide.

With Narcissa's son waiting on her to walk through before him, it was too late for Hermione to back out. Straightening her spine and gathering her resolve, Hermione crossed the border onto pure-blood soil. As the gate clanged shut behind her, the sounds of nature faded away, leaving her once more on a path between acres of cursed land. She knew the why of it, now. She has so much more knowledge of the souls who lived within these walls. Still, as the pea gravel crunched beneath her feet and another set of footsteps echoed along behind her own, she couldn't help but wonder if she wasn't just as naïve as she'd been the first time, just as blind to the life she was looking to sign herself up for once again. Craning her neck up at to greet the looming face of the manor, lingering darkness in each iron-gilded window, Hermione knew she was walking back into the fire of her own free will, and she was very likely to be burned.

If it hadn't been for a fidgety Draco ringing the doorbell, Hermione wouldn't have even known there was one. She had always come and go as she pleased, the doors never failing to open for her since the very first time Andromeda had unlocked them in that skittering show of light.

Rather than opening by magic, it was Rommie who greeted them. "Young Master Malfoy! Madame Granger! Oh, the Mistress will be happy to see you indeed." She continued to half-utter words of relieved welcome as her tiny figure ushered them down the hallway. "Come, come!"

Hermione's pulse began beating faster and faster the farther she went into the darkened hall, and realizing the direction in which she was being led did nothing to calm her nerves. That was the door to Andromeda's study, to the walls which had contained her every magical mishap of the past months, and to the room where she thought she had begun falling in love.

Hanging back as the door swung aside, Hermione had a moment to breathe a relieved sigh at the white-blond hair she found within before all hell broke loose.

"Draco!"

Before Hermione even had time to catch Narcissa's attention, Draco had pushed his way through the doors and slammed his hand down on the desk. "Dammit, Mum, what the hell were you thinking?"

Rising to greet her son's apparent fury, a steely-eyed Narcissa was quick to reply, "Is that any way to greet me?"

"You cut me off!"

"Draco, I—"

"You _cut me off, _Mother!"

"I need your help, Draco. Your father and I have—"

"This is not the way to get my attention. And besides, you need more help than I could ever give you," Draco cut her off, tone dry, insolent, and bitterly cynical.

At that moment, Narcissa's cold stare connected with Hermione's frightened one across her son's shoulder. "Hermione?" she whispered, eyebrows rising. She was apparently far more startled to see the young witch than she was to see her estranged son. "You've come back? You're back?"

It was Draco's turn to spare a confused look, staring back and forth between his mother and Hermione, clearly not understanding what was happening.

Hermione didn't want to interrupt whatever was taking place between the two of them, but she had been asked a direct questions. "I am," she squeaked out. Clearing her throat, she added, "If you'll have me, that is."

A heavy breath fled Narcissa's lungs and her spine visibly relaxed. "Oh, thank Merlin."

"What is this, Mother? What's going on?"

Narcissa had the good nature to look chagrined. "A different answer to my… dilemma." The weight of the combined stares of mother and son made Hermione squirm. "Of course I'll have you." Her voice hardened for a moment as she added, "Though it would have been infinitely preferable if you'd come two days ago as I asked."

Hermione looked down. "I'm sorry. I—"

Before Hermione could come up with any semblance of an explanation for her absence, Draco cut her off. "What the hell is going on here?"

Narcissa quickly crossed around the desk and placed a restraining hand on her son's shoulder. "Draco—"

He shrugged her off.

"I'm sorry. I would never actually… I didn't know any other way to get you here. If you'd just give me an address… if you'd stop sending back my letters…"

Draco shook his head. "I have no idea what you want from me, Mother. I never have. And I certainly can't imagine why you're still here after all this time if you're so desperate to see me."

Darting a glance towards Hermione that the younger witch couldn't begin to read, Narcissa tried to interrupt her son once again. "Draco, you know why I can't—"

"No, Mum, I haven't the slightest idea why you do or don't do anything!" He, too, gave Hermione a side-eyed look. "What's she got to do with cutting me off from the family accounts? Can you at least answer that for me?"

Looking visibly uncomfortable, Narcissa shook her head. "It isn't like that, Draco. I'll put you back in the records tomorrow, but if I could just… if you'd be willing to stay just a few days—"

Shaking his head in exasperation, Draco pushed past Hermione and out the door, but turned back to say, "More secrets. Just what I wanted to hear." His fingers drummed anxiously along the handle of his wand. "I need that money, Mum. I'm getting engaged… hopefully this month. I haven't got time to spend one more minute here than I have to. I'm not letting your nonsense mess up my life any more than it already has."

"Engaged? To… ah, to the Greengrass girl, I'd imagine." There was a stunning lack of emotion in Narcissa's voice. "I'll go to Gringotts in the morning. Just… stay the night, please? There are so many things we should—"

"I'll stay in London for the night. If you don't come after me, we can have tea in Diagon before I go. Like civilized folk."

With no further goodbyes, he spun off down the corridor, leaving Hermione fidgeting aimlessly in the doorway. Seeing the trembling in Narcissa's fingers as she clutched the edge of the desk, Hermione had a feeling she might need a few moments alone. "I… I'll just go put my things upstairs."

There was no reply, so Hermione closed the door quietly and started away down the hall. As she followed a few steps behind Narcissa's son, the sound of something breaking echoed from within the study. Ahead of her, Draco flinched and paused. "I don't suppose you'll tell me what's going on, then?"

Catching up and falling into step beside the young Malfoy, Hermione shook her head. "If only I knew."

"You too, then?" he snorted, turning to face her as the walked. "They've been playing their games with you, too, I suppose? My family's gone absolutely mad since the war, if they weren't half-gone already."

Not usually one prone to ill words about her employers, Hermione couldn't help a wry smile from appearing on her lips. "They certainly have their secrets."

He laughed, then, and it wasn't quite as bitter as it could have been. "I'd say 'get out while you can,' but from the sound of it you've already tried." They had reached the entryway and paused in silent accord, both knowing they had two different paths to tread with their next steps. "It's amazing how good my mum and her sisters are at getting their claws in people."

Thinking of her first weeks with Andromeda and Narcissa's latest meddling, Hermione was more than inclined to agree. "Are all pure-blood families like this?" she muttered to herself.

Draco gave a real laugh, then. "Honestly, all pure-blood families might as well be literally the same, and I'm not just talking about secrets."

Hermione was surprised to hear such self-depreciating humor from a member of the same family as the ever-proud Narcissa Malfoy and the bitingly pure-blood-supremacist Bellatrix Black.

He sighed. "Still, it's family, and I'd say a touch better than the rest of the rabble." He spared Hermione a closer glance, then shrugged. "No offense."

Ah yes, there it was; still the rabble. "None taken."

They stood for a moment in silent understanding, both lost in their many memories of the other witches and wizard standing somewhere under this self-same roof, but a closing door somewhere over their heads started Draco in motion once again. "Yes, well… I'd better be off. Don't really fancy seeing my father tonight." He started away, and then paused, turning back. "It was good meeting you. Whoever the hell you are."

Hermione nodded, smiling. "Good luck with—"She almost said _all of the madness,_ but paused, remembering just how surely the walls here had ears. "—the engagement."

He smirked, clearly hearing exactly what had gone unsaid. "Thanks." He cast a glance down the hallway where they had left his mother. "You too."

* * *

><p>Hermione made dinner to hide from her thoughts. The house-elves were a welcome distraction, happily chasing a hissing Crookshanks into the kitchen for a furry reunion. Hermione surprised herself when holding the ugly beast in her arms brought a few tears, and she realized just how much she hadn't been ready to give all this up. She needed time; time to come to terms with the fact that her decision to Apparate here had been anything <em>but<em> spur-of-the-moment. Hermione often felt spontaneous, but she'd come to realize it was less impulse and more her brain's inability to catch up with her intuition. Her common sense had been fighting tooth and nail these past few days to pick the safe life, to stay with her mum and hunt down a new job, but some deeper part of her had been whispering _coward_ in her ear, and Hermione had been many things in her life, but never that.

So much for hiding from her thoughts.

Narcissa drew her out of her physical hiding place as soon as the meal was ready. She came into the kitchen with a box of cereal hanging limply from her hand and it wasn't until she had pulled out a bowl that she noticed the room's other occupant and the pot over the fire. She was quite startled that Hermione had made a meal already, but she didn't waste long in gratitude before insisting the younger witch come and eat with her in the study.

She spared a few words of explanation as they walked. "Andromeda has fallen behind on our usual duties to the Ministry this week, so I've been filling in, but I don't know my way around our mother's study nearly as well as my sister did. I've got fifteen more things to do tonight before I'll be able to turn in and I absolutely must talk with you. Join me."

It was a daunting invitation and a command Hermione could hardly disobey, so she found herself seated at the familiar dark-stained desk, staring at the candlelight reflected in the two dark windows to the outside world and the absolute disaster of paperwork spread from wall to wall.

"So," Narcissa started, taking the seat Hermione had long thought of as Andromeda's. "You decided to come back after all."

Now that Narcissa had gotten over her initial astonishment, Hermione was unsurprised to receive a colder welcome.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting, ma'am." Hermione didn't really know what else to say in explanation. She didn't even have one to offer herself. There were too many feelings about this place and these people bouncing around between her ears for any hope of a coherent response. "I… it had been a long time since I saw my family. It took me some time to remember… what everything is like."

Narcissa offered a wan smile. "Yes, well. While it would have been infinitely preferable if you'd come two days ago, I'm not interested in your life story. I'm prepared to let bygones be bygones."

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm sorry if I made things tense between you and your son, too. I didn't mean to turn up in the middle of… all that."

"Things between me and my son are neither your concern nor your doing."

Hermione flinched at the ice in her tone.

"Anyway, some miracle notwithstanding, he'll be gone again tomorrow," Narcissa added, voice distant but not as harsh. For a moment, Hermione felt as though the other witch had forgotten she was in the room. "At least I've managed to get you back, anyway," she added, staring directly at Hermione in that piercing way all three sisters had. It was especially uncanny coming from Narcissa's pale eyes, and even more so knowing the power that rested in that mind. Hermione shivered, recalling each of the times any one of the sisters' magic had been inside of her. As confident as she was becoming in her own power, next to these three, Hermione supposed she would always feel small.

"I'm going to need your help with something," Narcissa added when the silence between them had stretched too thin.

Hermione waited for elaboration but nothing was offered.

"With what, ma'am?"

"Narcissa. Please."

"Narcissa," Hermione whispered. It was beginning to feel surreal, seeing the youngest sister sit where Andromeda had always sat, asking things of her, coaxing her to once again use a given name rather than a reflexive title of respect… When she had first come here, she never would have imagined this sort of conversation with the cold, distant woman she had first been so intimidated by at her arrival.

"I don't need it now," Narcissa continued, as though the little change in address had never interrupted their conversation. "It can't happen yet. You need to talk to Andromeda first."

Hermione flinched, unable to keep her reaction to that name from being a visceral one.

"None of that," Narcissa scolded, but her tone was gentle. "I didn't bring you back here just to have you and my sister tiptoeing around each other for months. I have my own theories about the things each of my sisters have said to each other and to you, but I'm hardly the one you need to hear them from."

Reluctantly, Hermione nodded, accepting that it would be impossible to exist here without having some interaction with her first lover. It was nothing but wishful denial to imagine otherwise. "I'll talk to her."

Narcissa's stare seemed to weigh her words and find them wanting. "You'll give her a chance to explain?"

"Yes." It was the only word she could spare that wouldn't devolve into frightened anger at the thought of just how that explanation might go.

"And you will figure out where your… relationship stands," Narcissa added pointedly.

"It's over," Hermione blurted out, unsure how that could even be in question.

The corner of Narcissa's mouth twitched up into a strained smile. "You say that now, but my sister may have other ideas."

Hermione shook her head. "She can keep them to herself."

For a heartbeat, Hermione's frank words seemed to startle the witch across from her, but when the surprise passed, that thin smile spread into something more real. "I'd forgotten the fire you have."

Hermione looked down, embarrassed to have lost her temper. The only other times Narcissa had seen her "fire" had been in conversations over literature, not over her sister.

"Don't get coy now," Narcissa muttered, then sighed, shaking her head. "It's been a long day, hasn't it? I'm going to be up another few hours, but there's no reason one of us shouldn't get some rest. Go. Get settled. We'll talk again tomorrow." As she rose and escorted Hermione back to the door, she added, "I'll be gone most of the morning, so there's no need to fix me breakfast, and steer clear of the third floor. That being said, I expect you to have spoken with 'Dromeda by the time I return."

"I'll do that," Hermione said, trying to keep her voice steady. Inside, every inch of her was crawling to get far, far away before she ever needed to come face-to-face with that woman – teacher, lover – again.

As she trudged up the stairs to her waiting bed, apparently untouched since her departure, Hermione wasn't sure where all that courage that had spurred her return had gone. Something in the empty halls had sucked it back out of her, and it was all she could do to curl up beneath the covers and try to let warmth chase out the fear.

_What in Merlin's name am I doing back here again?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Updates only a week apart? What sorcery is this?

Can't promise they'll stay like this, but for the moment, back really does mean back.

I know this was a slow chapter, but things will pick up soon enough. So glad to hear from you all again… lots of familiar names in the reviews even after so long away. Lots of speculation, too. Let's just say some of you have been putting pieces together rather better than others.

Hope no one minds that Christmas came a little early to the fic; I won't say "happy holidays" to you this time in the hopes I'll have another few chapters to gift you with by the time the season really rolls in.

All the best,

- Zarrene.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in past and future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Andromeda, Hermione/Narcissa.

* * *

><p>Hermione seriously contemplated how hard it would be to avoid both Andromeda and Bellatrix for the indefinite future, but Narcissa was… intimidating, to say the least, so sunup saw her reluctantly knocking at the middle sister's door with breakfast.<p>

"No more cereal!"

Hermione blinked in confusion at a reply she could not possibly have expected. "Excuse me?"

"I'll eat when there's some actual bloody food in this house again, Cissa!"

When the context of those words finally clicked for Hermione, not even her nerves and lingering resentment could keep a small smile from flitting across her face. It was nice to know at least her cooking was irreplaceable.

"It's not Narcissa," Hermione said softly. Unsure if she'd been heard, she added, "It's Hermione."

Silence lingered behind the door, too long for comfort, but eventually the soft padding of bare feet approached. The door creaked open just a sliver, catching on the lock chain with just enough light leaking through to illuminate Andromeda's eye. "Hermione?"

Hermione fidgeted. "I've brought breakfast. Not cereal. Oatmeal. Well, I guess that's still cereal, technically, but it's hot, and it's got brown sugar, and…" She trailed off, catching herself mid-ramble. "And we need to talk."

The door shut just long enough for the latch to slide free. "You're back?" Andromeda murmured as it swung wide. She must have just risen, her silken night gown hanging askew from one shoulder, tangled hair a fright. The dark circles under her eyes were as pronounced as the first time Hermione had seen her, that day in the Ministry lift, but there was no hint of sleep within them. She stared at the younger witch as though seeing a ghost.

"Yes," Hermione replied, thrusting out the tray of oatmeal when Andromeda's hand started rising, crossing the invisible threshold from her room as though to touch the younger woman's face. As Andromeda was forced to take the tray, Hermione added, "Sort of. I think so. But not… not for you." In her attempt to clarify, she knew she was unnecessarily harsh, but she couldn't spend this conversation dealing with any lingering ideas Andromeda might have about where things stood between them. "Nar—Lady Malfoy told me to give you a chance to explain, and, well… she hasn't lied to me yet, as far as I can tell. So here I am."

Andromeda stared at her sadly. "You're so cold when you're angry." She turned, ushering the other witch into the room. Setting down the tray on her bedside table, she turned to face Hermione once more. The younger witch had paused just inside. "I'm afraid if I say I've missed you, you'll… turn into ice or something." She tried to close the gap between them, but Hermione shook her head, striking out on a determined path to the chair in the far corner. "Hermione, please, at least look at me."

Hermione wasn't ready for this, to see the hurt in Andromeda's eyes. The other woman was right about one thing… Hermione was cold. The walls she had put up to push through this were almost certainly made of ice, and she was afraid Andromeda had enough fire to melt them with a touch, enough force to shatter them with her words. She wasn't ready to let out _any_ of what was hiding behind them, not the full force of her anger, and certainly not forgiveness.

Andromeda wasn't ready to give in. She crossed the room with determined steps, kneeling down before Hermione and staring directly at her. "I won't talk to someone who can't see the truth in my eyes," she insisted. "We'd just be going in circles."

Hermione's nails dug into the skin of her palms as she dropped her gaze to Andromeda's hands rather than her face. She needed to gather what she was feeling. It was too close to the surface here, in the room where they shared their first kiss. She needed to see the woman who lied to her, the one who had been scheming for months without telling her anything, not the one she'd been growing to love.

"_Hermione."_

One hand moved to her knee, fine-boned fingers pale against her robes and warm through them. Hermione studied it. It was a hand she had thought she could trust. She had trusted it with teaching, first, then with healing… eventually with her body. She shook her head and it withdrew, and in that moment, Hermione decided to trust her one more time.

The moment their eyes met, Andromeda began to speak. "I don't want to lose you, Hermione."

Hermione shook her head. "That's not what we're talking about."

"But—"

"—No. Anything you have to say right now about… us… it's only going to make things worse. Please, just… don't push me on this right now."

Andromeda closed her eyes, hanging her head, letting out a low breath clumsy with misery. It was the first sound Hermione had heard from the woman completely lacking in her impossible poise, and she felt the ache of it deep in her chest. Clinging tightly to her righteous anger, she pushed back the sudden urge to cry.

"Fine. You want me to talk about Bella? I'll talk about Bella." She looked up again. "Let me tell you about Bellatrix Black."

She rose, suddenly towering over the seated Hermione. "To understand what I am about to tell you, you need to understand some of my history. For Blacks, and for Slytherins, family has always come first. Yes, it is often born of misguided blood supremacy, but by the time we are old enough to recognize it, it is more about… trust. When someone has proven themselves worthy of our trust, has shown that they will help us on the path of our ambitions, our dreams… they have earned our loyalty, our love. It takes quite a bit to break that.

"My sister… she has always protected me and Cissa. Our parents were… not the sort to earn any awards for kindness. Bella gave so much of herself so Cissa and I could have a more normal childhood. She ate up every word our parents fed her about blood purity and allegiance to a greater, darker power to the point that she had gorged herself on so many lies she was sick with it and there was little left for us. Narcissa clung on to the scraps with everything she had, not because she wanted the life my parents promised us, but because she _idolized _Bella. Bella was always the strong one, the smart one… Cissa was so busy trying to keep up with her that she didn't notice… didn't see how she was changing. I was the only one who was watching her as she started to become the mad one instead.

"When she was married off, she couldn't be around as often, but she still did her best to keep us safe and improve the family name, but I had become incredibly disillusioned with my family's entitled cruelty. While Bella had earned my trust and loyalty, my family never had, and I was next in line for a husband, so I left. I ran."

Andromeda paused. "My sister sees that as the ultimate betrayal. Bellatrix thinks… my leaving the family… she thought I didn't trust her to keep guiding my life. She thought I was leaving _her._ She doesn't understand that it was self-preservation and the insight she had given me into my own life that drove me out, not her. Since then, I… I thought I must be seen as the ultimate evil in her eyes; the deserter, the coward, the betrayer. Now… now I'm not so sure. Now I wonder if she hasn't spent the last _decades_ of her life thinking that she was the one to break my trust, that she did something wrong, and I've been part of some twisted scheme to try and recreate our old bond, to reunite the family. Despite everything you've seen… Bella has been kind since she's been here. Cooperative. Manipulative, of course, but not defiant. She's been courting the old connection the three of us used to have and… you were getting in the way. Still, I've been starting to see her as… as human again, rather than as a nightmare.

"I stopped wanting my sister dead a long time ago, Hermione, and I'd like to think you've known me long enough to know I'm not a killer."

Andromeda's words had been steady, her gaze distant but intent, as though focused on a past Hermione could hardly imagine, her words serving as a direct line between the Black family's history and Hermione's ears. Despite herself, Hermione was fascinated, but she wasn't convinced of anything. It was all very vague, and very much rooted in the distant past rather than anything she had experienced since living here. "What is that even supposed to mean?" she asked. "You said just days ago that you still wanted her gone, out of your life!"

"Gone, Hermione, yes," she insisted, gripping the younger woman's wrist. "Not dead."

Pulling back sharply and rising, putting the chair firmly between herself and the other witch, Hermione shook her head. "Stop playing word games."

A flash of impatience darted over Andromeda's features, Hermione's continued rejection finally hitting a nerve. "It took a while, I'll admit that, but these past few months with you, I realized I could never be a killer… not in this life, not in cold blood… not like that. All I wanted was to start a life with you. I… A part of me still hates her, but not enough to compromise everything I am. Realizing that… it changed my intentions, but not my drive. I need her gone, Hermione; I need my own life back. I crave… normalcy, more than anything else."

Hermione's defensive posture had begun to relax with Andromeda's words. Everything she'd said earlier had felt rehearsed, staged. This felt more authentic, but all the more dangerous for it. It was as though Andromeda had traded roles, leaving her teacher persona behind with the history lesson and turning into her lover instead. It triggered the easy feelings of intimacy they had shared, feeding Hermione's more trusting instincts despite her determination to take everything Andromeda said with a grain of salt.

"And Bella… Bella deserves a second chance."

Hermione's eyes widened. "What?"

"She does. Or a first, honestly. I'm not sure she ever even had that much. Living with her these past months… I've learned a lot about myself and very little about her, but enough to know that the only person who can and should decide the fate of Bellatrix Black is, well, is her. I've cast so many judgments… she's committed so many crimes… but she's always come back to me, to Cissa." A wry smile crossed her lips. "Hell, in some ways she even brought you into my life. I want to see if she could have that. If she could live a normal life. Maybe she'll go out and get herself killed but… maybe she won't, and what I realized, that first day with you, working with your magic… you can do something no one else can, something the Ministry would never imagine, never expect."

Andromeda took a deep breath before she added, "You could set her free."

Hermione was shaking her head, every moment she had survived at the hands of the eldest sister flashing behind her eyes, but Andromeda wasn't seeing her denial. Instead, her eyes brightened, her voice lifted, and the teacher inside of her seemed to emerge again.

"Your magic is so unique! The level you've been working at already is simply indescribable. Unbound magic is more than just a different way to perform the spells the whole wizarding world uses. If we go to the source, if I help you start manipulating the power itself, you could change _everything_."

Still shocked by Andromeda's revelation, Hermione was nonetheless slowly beginning to wrap her mind around what she was saying. "Raw magic," she whispered, connecting yet another few dots of unanswered question together in her mind.

Andromeda's smile widened. "Yes! Precisely! I've had limited success with it myself, very limited, and even Minerva's barely scratched the surface of its potential, but with someone like you, why, you could change the very essence of magic. You could—"

"—Get rid of the Ministry's restrictions on you sister, is that what you want?" Hermione asked, shaking her head once again.

"Yes! Well, no, not exactly. They'd know if you tampered with those. But you could do something far more subtle. You could change _her._"

"I don't think I want to hear any more about this," Hermione insisted, starting to inch her way out from behind the chair and towards the doorway, but Andromeda didn't seem to hear her.

"You could alter her magic right at the source! All of the Ministry's legal magic, from what they've done to my sister to the Trace, it only works because we've all got a completely unique magical signature. These spells are keyed to it, designed to restrict or allow access to any given magic based entirely on the idea that our individual magic is immutable, unchanging, unaffected by illness or injury… But it's still just magic, and if it's magic, _we can control it_. With just a little more work, you might be able to—" Andromeda stopped midsentence, finally seeming to notice just how far around the room Hermione had progressed. "What are you doing?"

"Getting out of here," she whispered, stepping up to the door. "This is insanity."

Andromeda's expression darkened. With a quick wave of her wand, Hermione heard the lock turn behind her. "I'm not mad, Hermione."

Trying to dispel her nerves as the older witch approached, Hermione shook her head again. "Whether or not you've lost your mind is beside the point. This _plan_ of yours is insanity."

"You still don't believe me?" Andromeda asked, drawing ever closer.

"Oh, I believe you alright," Hermione muttered with a strangled laugh. "You've answered quite a number of my questions today. That, however, doesn't mean I would ever agree to _any_ of this. Your sister shouldn't be set loose in the world. Ever."

A quick burst of Hermione's magic unlocked the door, and for a moment she was too startled at her success to open it, but when Andromeda looked like she would protest Hermione's words, she quickly stepped out into the hallway.

"You're running away again," Andromeda whispered. As suddenly as she had turned angry, everything about her suddenly spoke of raw pain, as though Hermione's actions were physically hurting her. Hermione shook her head, finally seeing how easily Andromeda could manipulate the emotions of those around her.

"No, I'm not, actually. I'm just… leaving while things are still civilized." When Andromeda's hand caught the door before it could close, Hermione huffed in exasperation. "What did you expect, Andy?" She hardly even noticed herself falling back on the name she had only called her in rare, intimate moments. "Your sister has hurt me. More than once. I'm just a servant, anyway; I don't mean anything at all to her. Imagine what she'd do to the people who put her here! To the ones who bound her magic! Look. I believe you. I even believe you about your past. I guess I can see why, after everything you three have been through, you might want her to have another chance, because clearly that's something you've been trying to get for yourself for… decades. But even if my magic could do this, I'm not like you. I'm not ready to risk any number of lives on the off chance your sister could fit into the world without killing anyone else."

"Listen to the Mudblood, Andy dear."

Both Andromeda and Hermione jumped as Bellatrix emerged from the shadows at the other end of the hall. When Hermione caught sight of Crookshanks perched nonchalantly on Bellatrix's shoulder, clearly leaving orange fur on her dark cloak, her eyes widened. _"Traitor," _she muttered under her breath. Hermione could have sworn the little beast heard her as his ears perked up and twitched. When Bellatrix approached the other two women, however, the cat made a hasty getaway towards the kitchen.

"You know how I feel about meddling, muddy fingers getting anywhere nearmy magic!" Bellatrix hissed, stepping alarmingly close to Hermione and breathing the words against the side of her face. "You should take her advice and _leave it alone._"

Confronted with the sister she'd been most actively hoping to avoid, Hermione found herself distinctly more curious than scared. "You knew about this?" Hermione asked. "You knew about this plan all along?"

Bellatrix shrugged, ignoring Andromeda's wand emerging from the doorway to point at her heart. "Sure thing, pet."

Hermione let out an exasperated laugh, startling both of the Black sisters from the staring contest they were engaged in over her head. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you lied to me, too. Or that you were _both_ keeping this from me."

Bellatrix shook her head. "Ah-ah, not me, dearie!" Her sing-song tone was entirely too perky for Hermione's level of annoyance.

"You said she still wanted to kill you!" Hermione insisted, staring directly into the eldest sister's eyes. If today was the day of confrontations and clearing the air, she might as well make the most of it.

"Ooh," Bellatrix murmured. "Little Mudblood's a lot more fearless with my Andy at her back, hmm?"

Hermione was honestly surprised Andromeda had allowed their conversation to continue this long, but when she met the middle sister's eyes, she found them darting back and forth between Bellatrix and Hermione in confusion. Blinking, Hermione realized this was the first time she'd seen them interact like this since her unsanctioned visits to the third floor, the first time she'd heard Bellatrix's taunting pet names, witnessed their strange, dangerous banter. Hermione had almost forgotten that the sisters weren't the only ones who had been… keeping secrets.

"I didn't lie to anybody," Bellatrix continued with a chuckle, ignoring the tension rising between the other two women. "You honestly think you can go playing around in another witch's magic and she won't end up _dead_?" Bellatrix's voice rose to a violent squawk by the last word and she shook her head. "Answer's no, pet. Your dirty magic wreaking havoc inside me is just as much a death sentence as if Andy finished me with her wand _right_ _now_," she hissed, punctuating each of the final words with a small, taunting step towards her sister, ending up with Andromeda's wand pressing into the skin directly over her heart, exposed by the almost indecent cut of the black corset she wore.

Andromeda's hand was shaking.

Questions dripped off of Bellatrix's lips one by one, slow and thick as molasses. "Well, what's it gonna be, hmm? Is today the day you finally snap? Ready to give up the pretense? Why wait? Why depend on your little house-elf lover to off me, hmm?" In a flash, she reached up and grabbed hold of Andromeda's arm, digging the wand tip even more viciously into her own flesh. "Why don't you just finish it already!" she shouted, eyes suddenly wild.

Andromeda jerked back, pulling into her room and slamming the door. Hermione heard the distinct sound of a fist slamming into it from the inside before all went deadly silent, and Hermione was left in the hallway with Bellatrix Black.

Bellatrix didn't spare her so much as a glance. She stared at the closed door until her breathing slowed, then dragged a hand through her tangled curls as her breath shuddered out between clenched teeth. Hermione watched in astonishment as the witch struggled to regain her composure, a look of abject misery darting across her face as her eyes closed for a lingering moment. Hermione really didn't want to be there when the other witch remembered she wasn't alone.

In the end, it didn't matter. Bellatrix turned and disappeared the same way she had come without saying a single word to the younger witch, leaving Hermione once more standing alone in the halls of Black Manor, wondering yet again at innumerable ways in which these three women could continue to confuse her.

It was going to take hours to sort through whether or not she was coming away from this particular confrontation with answers... or just more questions.

* * *

><p>Though Hermione tried to make a quick getaway to her chambers after preparing lunch, Narcissa found her there only moments after she'd settled at her desk to eat. The sure, perfectly timed set of three knocks was quite unlike anything Andromeda would have used to demand entrance, so Hermione could have guessed who her visitor was even if she hadn't been expecting the youngest sister. As it was, she knew Narcissa would want to know what had occurred this morning and probably wouldn't tolerate waiting. Hermione just wished she had more time to figure that out for herself.<p>

"Come in!" she called, trying to keep the reluctance and emotional exhaustion out of her voice.

Narcissa looked, if possible, even more downtrodden than Hermione felt. She was wrapped in some sort of fur, and despite the clearly expensive material, it gave the witch the appearance of being curled up dejectedly in a fluffy blanket. Her bearing was as rigid as ever, but dark circles stood out more prominently beneath her eyes than Hermione had ever seen, and her steps were heavy as she entered the room.

Hermione offered a hesitant greeting. "Good afternoon?"

Narcissa drew in a breath as though to answer, then let it out slowly. She shook her head and finally muttered, "Hopefully better than this morning, anyway."

At her look of faint embarrassment over speaking so frankly, Hermione attempted a tentative response. "I take it your son has left again?" She asked the question partially out of genuine interest, genuine sympathy, but partially to keep the focus off of herself as long as possible.

Narcissa's lips pursed. "He has." She paced over to the frame of Hermione's bed and stopped there in an odd parody of where the average witch might relax. She stood just beside the bedpost but did not lean against it, continuing to carry every bit of her own weight. "Enough of that. How did everything go this morning?"

Hermione looked away. "I don't really know. It… it went?"

"It _went_?"

"I did what you asked, anyway. I talked to Andromeda."

Hermione tried to pull together a semblance of what had taken place that morning.

"And?" Narcissa prompted, clearly a bit impatient.

"Well… you were right. About a lot of things. Andromeda doesn't really want Bellatrix dead. She wants… something much more complicated and quite possibly more daft than I could have imagined." Hermione curled her shoulders in protectively. "You were also right that she… she didn't have quite the same idea of where we left our… relationship." She glanced up to gauge Narcissa's reaction, wondering if she needed to elaborate. An arched eyebrow drew another few reluctant words. "I've made it as clear as I can that we're through, though."

"No second thoughts?" Narcissa asked, question entirely devoid of emotion.

Hermione held back a self-deprecating snort. Of course there were second thoughts. And third, and fourth… every moment with Andromeda eating away at her resolve even as it was also strengthened. Not to mention how entirely surreal it was to be talking about this with her ex-lover's younger sister. "None," was all she allowed herself to reply.

Narcissa's response was a curt nod. "And this plan? I've had a feeling my sister had something up her sleeve for months now, but the two of us don't exactly talk on a regular basis."

"Well I'm glad I wasn't the _only_ one entirely out of the loop." She paused, trying to put the things Andromeda had said to her into some semblance of order. "I'm not even sure I'm going to explain this very well—" she muttered, "—but I'll do my best."

From the number of slow, contemplative nods she received throughout her recollection of the morning's conversation, it made as least some degree of sense to Narcissa. She was sure she was doing a terrible job of it, jumping right into the middle of the whole disaster by explaining that Andromeda actually wanted to set Bellatrix loose on the world, but she didn't feel comfortable explaining Andromeda's view of their childhood to another of the sisters who had lived it. When she mentioned the role her magic was supposed to play, Narcissa looked as though everything had come together in her mind, muttering under her breath, "I wondered why she never would stop talking about you as some sort of magical prodigy."

Hermione couldn't keep her lips from twitching into a little smile at that. She had to admit, despite everything, she was proud of how quickly she had been learning. The smile slipped when she realized those days were likely behind her. "Yes, well… That's why."

Finally, she recounted Bellatrix's parting… intervention, though she wasn't entirely sure she understood all that had happened in those dangerous moments between the two older sisters. "Honestly, I don't understand why Andromeda could possibly think this is a good idea! Bellatrix doesn't even want it! She—" Hermione shuddered as she remembered the fierce, suicidal anger she had witnessed between the two witches. "She'd literally rather die than have me touch her magic."

Slowly, Narcissa shook her head. "I have a feeling that's not exactly true," she murmured. Pulling in the fur closer about her shoulders, she paced slowly towards the door. "I want a drink. Walk with me."

Hermione followed nervously as Narcissa led them into the kitchen. A wave of her wand unlatched the uppermost cabinet and – to Hermione's astonishment – popped out the side of it as well. Another quick motion summoned a slender bottle of something golden and shimmering from the hidden nook, and Narcissa caught hold of it with a smile. "Honeysuckle wine," she explained, summoning two glasses and popping the cork. "Quite possibly the rarest wizarding liquor in the world." She handed Hermione a glass despite her incoherent protests at the imagined cost. "We'll both need it tonight."

Clutching her fine-stemmed glass in the same hand as her wand and the bottle in the other, Narcissa proceeded to guide them to the library. As she settled into the familiar chair, Hermione realized just how much she had missed this place. The wall-to-wall press of books seemed to eat away at her nerves and confusion, and when she took a tentative sip of the golden drink in her hand, the delicate, heady flavor burst across her tongue as though she were drinking the dappled sunlight of a spring morning, and for that fleeting moment, she felt entirely carefree for the first time in her remembered life.

Narcissa was giving her one of those not-quite-smiles, the one that seemed simultaneously indulgent and calculating. "Divine, isn't it?"

Hermione could only nod in wonder.

For a moment, the two witches sat in silence, but Hermione couldn't forget her cryptic words. "You… you had something to say? About Bellatrix?"

"I did. I do. I… you didn't know my sister before the war."

Hermione's eyes widened. Was she really about to receive a second history of Bellatrix Black? Twice in one day? Apparently so.

"My sister has been possessive as long as I've known her, but she hasn't always been… mad. She gave every bit of herself to keep my sister and I safe when we were children, even going so far as to marry the worst of our suitors. Sometimes I… I can only imagine how betrayed she must have felt when 'Dromeda turned around and absconded with a Muggle-born. I was married off, Andromeda was gone, and Bellatrix was left with no one to protect, married to that monster for nothing."

Narcissa sighed, taking a long, slow drink. "You're not… wrong, Hermione. It would be near insanity to turn Bella out into the world, to leave her to her own devices, but I do think my sister means well. 'Dromeda owes Bellatrix the sort of debt one can never really pay off. Though I'm astonished _any_ part of her has managed to forgive her for Nymphadora's death… those two have always played games I steered well clear of. I've been watching them these past months. Bella hasn't been fighting her fate nearly as hard as she could be. She's toying with the both of us, but mostly Andromeda, because living here… it's giving her a chance to work her way back into our lives, but it's also giving Bella so many chances to… to torture her."

Between thoughts, Narcissa's glass had already been refilled twice, while Hermione had scarcely touched half of hers. The more Narcissa drank, the faster the words spilled from her lips. "I honestly believe Bella has been getting her revenge on 'Dromeda before… bringing her back into the fold, as it were. You were a distraction, an inconvenience to her, but also yet another place she could twist the knife. That's why I don't think… it isn't about her not wanting you to change her magic. Well, perhaps a bit, but it's more… she doesn't want to leave. She wants things to go back to just the way they were when we were children. She can't seem to help herself, my mad sister, from causing as much pain as she can manage without tearing us apart forever." The wine in Narcissa's glass was shaking. "Not to mention how cruelly close a parallel you are to that idiot Tonks boy. That being said… I can see why 'Dromeda wants her gone. I think part of her might be genuine, might honestly believe she's taking the moral high ground here, giving Bella a second chance—" A small, bitter sound curled up from somewhere deep in her chest before she added, "—but the rest of her just wants the satisfaction of seeing Bella destroy herself completely."

Hermione was more than startled by this revelation. Not only was Narcissa offering her a second glance into their past which closely mirrored Andromeda's own words, but she was also offering an – admittedly drunken – insight into Andromeda's role in all of this. Despite the dark finale to her words, Hermione found the most prominent thoughts in her mind were… sympathetic ones. The more time she spent with these three women, the more she realized how glad she was to have been spared this sort of upbringing. The hints of the atrocities the Black sisters had lived seemed to far outweigh the cruelties of her particular experience with poverty. Recalling the small moment of violence Hermione had seen their father inflict on Bellatrix in her memory, imagining that multiplied and spread across at least seventeen years of her life… it was Hermione's turn for her glass to tremble. For the first time, Hermione felt tempted to consider Andromeda's plan, but it was a fleeting thought, the sort of temptation one might give into when offered a chance to nurse an injured baby bird back to health, not the sort one gave into when confronted by a full-grown dragon with a broken wing. If there was anything left in Bellatrix Black worth saving, it would take more than anything Hermione was willing to offer. She liked her limbs intact, thank you very much.

Narcissa had continued to drink through Hermione's silence. "I can practically see the wheels turning in your head, girl," she murmured.

Hermione blinked at how slow and dark Narcissa's voice had become. It took a moment to realize that the other witch was… well… drunk.

"I'm just… piecing things together, ma'am," she offered, finding herself more nervous now that alcohol had been added to the unpredictable nature of this particular witch.

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "If you're still calling me that, you haven't had enough to drink." She topped off Hermione's glass with astonishing grace considering her level of intoxication.

Hermione didn't resist. Aside from Narcissa being quite right about needing it for the conversation, this particular drink was… indescribable. She had experienced her fair share of wizarding and Muggle brews alike in her days at the Leaky Cauldron, but this was something else entirely. It tasted impossibly sweet, impossibly light, yet she could already feel it going to her head after only half a glass. She could scarcely imagine how one could ever make any significant quantity of this… It so closely mirrored the remarkable taste of the dew drops she and the other children had often painstakingly drank one by one from the flowered vines scattered about Diagon, but how one could possibly bottle such a thing… Hermione shook her head and allowed herself to bask in the honeyed heat slipping so easily down her throat without imagining the labor or cost.

As she drank, she felt the day finally settling in her mind. It wasn't nearly as pleasant as the drink. "I… You were right to make me talk to her," Hermione started, cautiously allowing some of what she was feeling to spoken aloud. "And… and thank you for… what you've just told me. But this? This sort of thing is exactly why I left! I… I'm nothing in these games the two of them play. I've been manipulated, betrayed, used—" Hermione's words were gathering power, gathering anger to cover her brittle fear. "—why did I come back?" Her voice cracked at the end of the question.

Narcissa quickly reached over and took Hermione's glass from her dangerously clenched fist, setting both of their drinks on the bookshelf behind her chair.

"Because I asked you to," she answered simply.

Hermione blinked. "Oh. Right." She'd almost forgotten that day in Flourish and Blotts. Her escape home felt incredibly distant after everything that had transpired in the past forty-eight hours. "You did. Why?" She tried to return to a semblance of civility, but she had a feeling her gradually increasing level of intoxication left her sounding frightened and needy at best.

Narcissa smiled, and while there was a startling pain lingering behind her usually icy stare, the smile felt real. "I have… a proposition for you," she said, her tone something Hermione couldn't begin to identify. "You need a distraction… and I need a scandal."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Happy Holidays, all! Many thanks to my most loyal reviewers for sticking around, welcome to all the new faces, and thanks to those of you who have taken the time get to know me and be more… personally inspiring. I'll never get over what a wonderful community the Bellamione world continues to be.

xx,

- Zarrene.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling is our queen, undisputedly. I'm just a petty thief who enjoys tinkering around in another's world.

**Rating:** M/NC-17. Graphic femslash in past and future chapters. Shhhh. Just go along with me and pretend it's permissible on this site. I'm hardly the only one.

**Warnings: **Sex. Violence. Quite possibly some of both together; I mean, we _are_ talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, here.

**Pairing(s):** Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Andromeda, Hermione/Narcissa.

* * *

><p>It took quite some time for Hermione to convince her heavy eyelids to lift and she regretted it instantly once they did. The light lanced directly into her skull and set it pounding, sparking to life the memory of just how much "liquid sunlight" she had swallowed down last night. Was that a second bottle she recalled being summoned from the kitchen?<p>

Hermione groaned and gave up on keeping her eyes open. Her thoughts didn't help with the headache. How far gone must she have been to have agreed to this?

Clawing her way into full wakefulness as she kicked away the sheets, Hermione dragged herself upright and tried to convince herself that the floor was still just as flat as it had been when she went to sleep. It seemed awfully far away.

She finally managed to put on robes and persuade herself that making breakfast was something she could handle… right up until she stubbed her toe on something, tripped, and went sprawling across the floorboards. Groaning again, she scooped up the book which had ended her brief moment of competence when her foot had decided to make friends with the only object on her floor. _Handfast: The Complete Guide to Pure-blood Marriage Ceremonies. _

Hermione shivered as she remembered Narcissa's voice last night. Even when Hermione expected anger, there had been nothing but an empty, emotionless winter behind her words. Her shiver turned into a flinch when she remembered her own earnest reaction to the elder witch as she agreed to do whatever it took to help her. The memories were surreal. The whole evening felt like drowning, drowning in Narcissa's miserable past and her beautiful, delicate, seductive wine and her cold, brilliant, beautiful voice and now that she was sober again, Hermione wished she could rewind those hours and never take the first sip, because there was no way any of those thoughts would even exist in her mind if she hadn't been thoroughly under the influence.

"_I'm sure you've managed to figure out some of the… situation between Lucius and myself."_

"_I've actually been trying not to, ma'am." _

"_Oh. How thoughtful of you. Yes. Well. Too bad." _

Too bad, indeed. Any illusions Hermione had of maintaining her plausible deniability when it came to the inner workings of the Malfoy marriage had been thoroughly shattered by Narcissa's lengthy explanation. Staring down at the book in her hands, Hermione remembered Narcissa's lack of patience with her somewhat drunken inquiries.

"_How much do you know about pure-blood wizarding marriage traditions?"_

"_I didn't realize there were different traditions at all, if that's any sign. What sort of traditions?" _

"_I haven't the time to teach you hundreds of years of binding and ownership history, but sufficed to say, pure-blood marriages of my generation tend to be a bit more complicated than whatever modern nonsense you're imagining. There are quite a number of side effects to a handfasting bond, but the one which affects us now is the simplest: it is essentially permanent. Moreover, I can't end it alone. It requires both parties involved as well as the head of each bloodline. Lucius does not wish our marriage to end. He finds it convenient. I do not." _

When Narcissa's words had triggered Hermione's curiosity as well as her sympathy, the witch had tossed her two books, both of which Hermione vaguely recognized from various encounters she'd had with Narcissa and literature. Hermione had devoured the smaller in its entirety the evening before in a semi-drunken haze, flipping pages in horror as she learned some of the other things which came with the type of marriage Narcissa had described. These ceremonies were brutally outdated, deeply rooted in a not-so-distant past of blatant misogyny and magical male supremacy. Most likely, the two were betrothed before they had even met, promised to each other by their families well before they were of age. The ceremony probably took place on the new moon closest to the wife's eighteenth birthday; though there were a few other acceptable dates, Hermione couldn't imagine the Blacks would allow any but the most traditional.

The particulars of the ceremony… the ritual bloodletting, the dark magic, the Dementor witness… all these momentary atrocities paled in comparison to the aftereffects of such a bond. It forged a link between husband and wife, but it was a distinctly less than equal one. While designed to ensure longevity, fidelity, honesty, and increased access to magical potential, the bond allowed the husband all sorts of liberties. These spells dated back to a very particular era, an era where "female passions" were seen as the root of all evil in failed marriage. Courtesy of the bond, the wife would be unable to experience strong feelings towards anyone but her husband and her blood kin. Through the emotional bond the handfasting so forcibly crafted, secondary violations could occur. The wife's magic could be drawn upon at will, her physical location detected, and, perhaps most dangerously, her emotions could be subtly influenced.

Narcissa was as thoroughly caged as Bellatrix.

It had been dreadful to read, especially written in a text so clearly supportive of such traditions.

It was interesting, now Hermione thought about it, that none of these limitations had come up last evening. Her discussion of the issue had been… removed. Practical. Impersonal.

"_I attained a Muggle annulment of my marriage quite easily, as well as a legal separation of our non-wizarding property and the wealth that was mine by birthright, but to actually undo the initial handfast, I must get Lucius's consent. He has no interest in losing face through public divorce. He is already under house arrest. As of this moment, I honestly think he can't imagine anything worse than the humiliation of the world knowing I left him. I can prove otherwise." _

Now that Hermione thought about it, the emotional component of the bond designed to keep the wife complacent was entirely absent from their words the night before. Though she hadn't even noticed in her distinctly less than able-minded state, something clicked now that morning and sobriety had arrived. Hermione had certainly seen no sign of emotional manipulation on Lucius's part… could this be a deliberate act of sabotage? Could Narcissa have worked out a way to circumvent the bond? She was a powerful Occlumens after all. Could her own emotional distance be part of something bigger? Could her brutal grip on every aspect of her life have allowed her some agency within the darker aspects of their marriage?

There were still so many unanswered questions, and though Hermione stared down at the second book in her hands for a long moment, she knew breakfast would have to come before any further investigation. It wouldn't do to forget the job she was being paid for in favor of the strange, voluntary one she'd taken on last night.

Of course, the moment her hands were occupied with the familiar tasks of chopping vegetables and scrambling eggs, her mind was free to wander back to the remainder of the evening, the last dregs of the second bottle of wine, and just how Narcissa intended to prove Lucius wrong.

"_I think my solution could be… mutually beneficial. You need something to keep your mind off of Andromeda: something more than cooking and cleaning and hiding away in your chambers. I need him gone. You and I… we're going to start a… a relationship of sorts. If we throw ourselves into the public eye, into the press, well… I highly doubt Lucius will still consider divorce the greatest of evils if he instead has to contend with the public believing I'm sleeping around behind his back. With you."_

Hermione had sat in stunned, drunken silence throughout Narcissa's words, nodding blindly over her rapidly re-emptying glass despite her complete and utter confusion. Eventually, the word _relationship _had slipped through the fog and she had indignantly asked, "Excuse me?"

Narcissa's words, however, were shockingly persuasive. In the moment, Hermione had though them entirely impossible to find fault with. Now, she really wished she had thought to at least ask for a bit of time to think the idea through, especially considering the remainder of Narcissa's explanation.

"_Now, please don't be insulted, but you're absolutely perfect for this. Not only are you a woman, Hermione, but you're a Mudblood. You're young, you're lower-class, you're everything my vein of society looks down upon. If anything will make my husband reevaluate his life decisions… There's nothing that could more thoroughly crush his fragile image than if the entire wizarding world believes he's been cuckolded by someone like you. I couldn't care less about my reputation; I want my freedom. The moment I'm free of this farce of a marriage, I'll be able to get away from this place, petition the Ministry to let me out of the country, go fix everything with Draco in France."_

She hadn't even thought to ask what all this little arrangement would entail. She had been far more concerned with the quiet, subtle agony in Narcissa's voice, the pain which she couldn't hide quite so well once she was a bottle in. Now, in the kitchen, Hermione's stirring grew more aggressive through the slowly boiling water as she remembered the string of insults that marked her qualifications for this job as Narcissa Malfoy's fake lover. In the end, though, she had asked exactly one question, and it had changed everything.

"_Of course! Of course I'll help! Only, why me? Why not… someone else, someone before?"_

"_Because I've come to trust you, Hermione Granger, and trust is something that does not come easily to me." _

Those few precious words—faint slurring and all—were the only bit of the evening that still tempted her. The rest was a blur of wine, confession, and confusion, but hearing Narcissa declare her trust, knowing she'd just been given more honesty in those strange, drunken words than in all the time she'd spent with Andromeda… that meant something to her. Well, that and one other thing. Having a chance to make Lucius's life a bit more miserable after what he'd done to her, to both of them… that was revenge that would taste sweet indeed.

* * *

><p>Narcissa found her in the Library shortly after lunch had been delivered. Hermione heard her enter, now easily able to pick out the near silent footfalls of the youngest Black. She felt eyes on her as she continued to clean at the foot of the nearest ladder, but she did not turn, wanting to give the other witch time to decide how this interaction would progress.<p>

To her surprise, her silence was met with tentative speech.

"Do you think me weak, then, Hermione? To have stayed with him all this time, to have let the bond between us trap me all these years?"

Of all the things Hermione might have imagined pressing on Narcissa's mind after the prior evening, that was hardly the top of the list.

"I'm sure you're asking yourself all sorts of questions. Did I do nothing but read and research all this time? Why didn't I run? Why not give up everything and put enough distance between us that… Well… I've hardly confronted my own life to this very day. Was I a coward?"

Narcissa's voice trembled on the last words and Hermione quickly dropped her stack of books, crossing to the other woman. "No," she whispered. "Not at all. In fact I—I think you must be the strongest person I've ever met."

Narcissa gave a bitter laugh. "I've no idea what that means anymore. All I want—" She pressed two fingers to each temple, as if to try and squeeze out the pain of the past decades. "—is to be _done_ with this. I'm not even searching for something anymore. At one time, it was safety; another, freedom. Now, I have no idea what I'll want when I break through to the other side but… I want what I'm living now to end, and I need you to do that."

"My answer hasn't changed since last night," Hermione answered, wrapping her arms around her own stomach to suppress the urge she had to offer some sort of physical comfort to the ever stoic woman before her. "I'll do whatever you need. I'm still not sure I understand, but I'll do it."

Narcissa nodded, lifting her gaze to finally meet Hermione's. "Good."

"But," Hermione whispered, digging her nails into her upper arms out of sheer nerves, "I do have questions."

"Ask."

In silent accord, the two witches assumed their usual seats, not quite facing each other, but angled enough to pass words with ease. "I… I started reading the books you gave me."

A quick smile flitted across Narcissa's lips. "Of course you did."

Hermione looked away, unable to meet the eerie intimacy of her gaze. After last night, something had shifted, and Hermione wasn't sure whether or not it was for the better. "I- I'm still… I'm curious about the emotional bond."

Narcissa nodded slowly. "I thought as much."

Though Hermione hoped that would be all the prompting needed, Narcissa seemed disinclined to answer yet. "You don't seem… influenced," Hermione added. "I've seen you attack him with magic, which, according to everything I've read—"

Narcissa held up a hand, cutting her short. "If you are even asking, you've more than likely figured most of it out. I was trained in Occlumency and Legilimancy from a very young age, and living with Bellatrix offered me numerous opportunities to perfect my craft. Not only is the handfasting bond outdated, but it severely underestimates the education of a modern witch."

Narcissa was playing with her wand as she spoke, and it was the first time Hermione could recall seeing her fidget. The motion sparked an odd sensation of déjà vu. _Bellatrix_, Hermione suddenly realized. Bellatrix twirled her wand in almost the exact same way.

"My sister helped me prepare. Bellatrix always believed that having unfettered access to our own magic was key to our survival and success in the first war."

"Bellatrix was bound as well?" Hermione interjected. The idea hadn't even occurred to her until now.

"Was she bound?" Narcissa echoed with a weak, despairing laugh. "The eldest? The one most responsible for creating an heir? Of course she was bound, and it certainly didn't help the matter of her sanity. My sister resisted the bond by… embracing her madness. I resisted it by rejecting everything I've ever felt."

Hermione couldn't turn away, could scarcely even stand to blink. Narcissa seemed almost to glow in this moment, lit from within by a cold fire of pure, empty, silent rage, an anger that never slipped into her words or her actions, but which must have been denied and crushed inside of her for decades.

"Bellatrix overwhelmed her husband's pitiful capacity for human emotion. She took everything around her and pulled it into herself, filling to the brim with more love and anger and pain than any one human could hold until Rodolphus could scarcely stand to brush the surface. She is most herself again after moments of pure, furious release, especially torture or murder, when everything comes exploding out of her in a burst of unadulterated rage…" Narcissa paused as a shudder wracked her shoulders. "…but enough of her. I've done quite the opposite. I let everything go. I've put a great distance between myself and my emotion. All emotion. It has been… surprisingly successful."

"That's awful," Hermione whispered. "I'm so… I'm so sorry."

Narcissa shivered, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, it was as though Hermione's apology had been shaken off of her as easily as droplets of water. "Yes, well, it was better than the alternative. Believe me, I know. Once Draco arrived I… I couldn't not love him. The first seventeen years of his life I… let down my guard. I've regretted it every moment since. I never would have allowed his father to… Well, it's in the past. I allowed my son to put my plans on hold for long enough. It ends here."

Hermione was silent for a long time, piecing together Narcissa's words to paint a picture of her life. She tried to imagine what the other witch had gone through. The years leading up to Draco's birth, entirely isolated from any emotional connection, any passion, and caring, any love… Then a son… She could only imagine how impossible it would be to remain emotionally distant from your own child. To go from emotional solitude to emotional manipulation over the course of only a few months… how had she ever come back again?

"So… if there's so much as a crack, if you feel anything, anything at all, he – your husband – he can…?"

"Well, no, not exactly. Back then, it was… different. Lucius has long since given up searching for a way into my mind and my magic on any sort of regular basis. He would have to be actively attempting to draw on my power or locate me when I let down my guard, and I have been particularly unforgiving towards his attempts ever since the Dark Lord fell, but I do not take chances. Without my magic, Lucius never could have survived the Dark Lord's disfavor. I brought us through the war. I will have my due."

Narcissa's voice was filled with haughty ice in that moment, her eyes flashing with pride. Hermione couldn't help but stare. She was far more put-together than Hermione would have expected after the night they'd both had, her figure boasting the sort of finery Hermione had grown accustomed to, but would never be able to fully comprehend. Draped in robes of a pale sage, cinched tight about the waist but only just clinging to her shoulders, Narcissa was the image a fey queen, ruler of some dying forest, disgraced but unbroken, determined to reclaim her failing realm. Hermione was drawn to her power and pride even as she was frightened of the deadly winter chill that accompanied her everywhere she went.

"You certainly will," Hermione murmured under her breath, unable to imagine a future where the woman who – according to Andromeda – had defied He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named not once, but twice, wouldn't utterly destroy any later obstacle that dared stand in her way. "When do we start?"

Narcissa's gaze focused once again. "Immediately. Or, as close to it as we can manage. As much as I would prefer diving out into the eye of the press this very moment and ending it once and for all, you aren't ready."

"I'm not ready?" Hermione echoed, genuinely confused.

"No. You aren't comfortable with me. You still bow your head when I walk into a room. You visibly defer to me when we speak. I'm still not convinced you won't call me 'ma'am' at an inopportune moment, and _that_ is not the sort of publicity I need. This must seem authentic, Ms. Granger."

Hermione straightened in her chair, hearing the wisdom in Narcissa's words even as she cringed to realize this might be more difficult than she thought. "You'd better stop calling me Ms. Granger, then," she finally said, trying not to shrink away from the Lady Malfoy's arched eyebrow at being corrected.

When Hermione didn't back down, a slow smile of pleasant surprise graced Narcissa's lips. "I suppose I'd better not, _darling._"

Hermione swallowed thickly. Oh. So that was how this was going to be. Only now, hearing that word drip off of Narcissa's lips in a thick, honeyed tone she'd never before been privy to, did the ramifications of playing at courtship with Narcissa Malfoy truly begin to sink in. She was too good at this. The youngest Black had been seducing the world since before Hermione had even come into it. She needed to remember she was the bait, not the prey. This could be hazardous to her health.

* * *

><p>Needing time to collect herself and her thoughts, Hermione retreated to her chambers for the afternoon, promising to join Narcissa again for dinner. She sat at her desk in silence for nearly a quarter of an hour, not really thinking on their conversation so much as on her complete lack of control over this situation. She had just agreed to take part in a plan entirely not of her making, and with no guarantee the outcome would be in any way to her benefit. It was not a place she enjoyed being, but at least it she was aware of the game this time.<p>

To distract herself, she decided it was time to write her mum a letter.

She lingered over the greeting for many minutes, pen poised over the parchment until a little ink blot had formed from her indecision. In the end, she finally skipped niceties and dove in.

_I thought you would be glad to know I've come back to the estate. I've resumed my position with the Black family, though in a slightly altered context. If I were you, I wouldn't concern myself with the papers for the next while. Things here have changed a bit. _

_I presume you are in the process of buying your new house; please return my Gringotts key at the earliest convenience. Money should continue to arrive._

_I hope you are well. _

_Hermione_

It was the closest tone Hermione could summon to civil. She was still not feeling particularly charitable about her mum's insistence that she take up this job again, but in the end, here she was, and it was still her mum. Maybe she really would be happier living somewhere else. Only time would tell.

Hermione got a bit lost as she hunted for the small owlery she knew to be somewhere on this floor, but she eventually found the secluded, glass-walled room and the birds who dwelled within it.

"Hello again, little nightmare bird," Hermione murmured softly as she approached the feathered monstrosity from Bellatrix. "Do you remember me?"

An answering yawn was her only greeting, and those gaping jaws did not appear particularly friendly.

"I picked out a name for you when I was gone," she continued to talk quietly as she drew closer, keeping a nervous eye on that deadly beak. "Venze. It has to do with glory. Or venom. Both. Do you like it?" As she carefully secured the letter to Venze's leg, a warning trill echoed through the air, but she was able to pull back without injury. "I'm going to take that as a 'yes.'"

She opened the window, and both bird and letter were gone.

Crookshanks had snuck in while she wasn't paying attention, and his attempt at looking innocent while side-eying the smallest owl in the room wasn't working. Hermione scooped him up despite his half-hearted whine of protest. Snagging the other book Narcissa had loaned her the night before from her room, she plopped both herself and her monster cat down on the windowsill of the second floor landing. She hadn't felt any particular desire to lurk here since she first met Bellatrix, but it had been a comfortable little nook all the same.

This second text, _Wizarding Marriage through the Ages,_ was less painful to read than the first. It was longer, spanning a great deal of history and including the traditions of a wide range of wizarding cultures, but the content addressed in the handfasting chapters was narrow and factual. Thankfully, it was also the opposite of encouraging. Where the other text had clearly been designed to promote such a bond, this text was dismissive at best, insisting that none of the things such rituals were designed to encourage could ever actually grow from a nonconsensual union.

It also further explored the emotional component of the magic, explaining the various pathways through which one witch or wizard could access the power of another. Using emotions – a volatile source of magic at best – to create such a connection was generally frowned upon, due to the undesirable effects on both parties involved. Though some wizards and witches throughout the ages had chosen to willingly bind together their abilities, attempting an equal partnership nearly always resulted in madness, volatility, and death. The only reason the pure-blood tradition had remained successful was due to the enforced subordination of one partner.

Hermione shivered. No wonder Bellatrix had lost some degree of sanity. Hermione could picture that witch subordinate to no one.

In the end, the most curious information she discovered was something Narcissa had mentioned, but only in passing. _To void a traditional pure-blood marriage contract, the head of each family line must be present_. _This clause was historically invoked to promote unity between the most high-ranking families, as political marriage was often the result of prior conflict. _

Hermione wondered what this meant for Narcissa. For the plan. For her.

* * *

><p>Narcissa did not allow her to serve dinner. Prepare it, of course; she was still being paid to work here after all, but Narcissa was treating this meal as a rehearsal dinner of sorts, and rehearsing for a fake date might yet be the most peculiar situation Hermione had ever found herself in.<p>

Rommie shooed her from the kitchen the moment she had finished cooking, insisting Narcissa would meet her in the dining room. The grand space was dimly lit when she entered through the kitchen, the only light spilling from the smaller chandelier over the less massive table off to the side. Narcissa sat alone, her back to the kitchen doors, but she rose when she heard Hermione's entrance, turning and piercing the younger witch with a stare she could not read. Hermione fidgeted across the room, unsure how to proceed.

She had felt unsure all day; unsure of her place in the household, unsure of her ability to play this role convincingly, unsure even what she should wear tonight. Her nerves had landed her in the same dress she had worn on her first date with Andromeda, which somehow felt both strange and fitting. Next to Narcissa's ever regal attire – a fitted, wrap-around silver garment which seemed designed to leave the observer in a perpetual state of curiosity as to whether it was designed to be a coat or a dress, and whether the thick linen concealed anything beneath it at all – still left Hermione feeling distinctly underdressed regardless.

Narcissa's arched eyebrow wasn't helping. Hermione looked down, half wondering if she had spilled something, only to realize she was still wearing the apron she had been cooking in. Flushing crimson, she reached up to untie the neck and tug it away, balling it up and gesturing nervously towards the kitchen before scurrying away to hang it back where it belonged. As the door swung shut behind her, Hermione could have sworn she heard a faint chuckle, and when she reentered, there was a small smile playing on Narcissa's lips. "Much better," she said. "Though we will have to… update your wardrobe before any of this goes too far. Nothing personal."

Hermione approached the table. "I thought… isn't my, well, status part of the image?"

Narcissa nodded as Hermione sat across from her, nervously eying the pristine, embroidered tablecloth that had emerged for this odd occasion. "It is, but I trust the tabloids to do their homework in that respect. They can discover your upbringing through research rather than attire."

"Research?" Hermione echoed, suddenly more nervous than before. "They won't... What about my family? My mother… she doesn't deserve to be harassed by the press. If she—"

"I will protect your mother to my fullest capability."

"How?" Hermione insisted, realizing there was more on stake in this than her mere peace of mind and reputation.

"If anything gets out of hand, I can toss a libel suit their way… or buy the newspaper, if I really must, though I would rather avoid that particular responsibility. Anyone involved in direct action against you or your family can be guaranteed a lifetime bussing tables in a Muggle diner."

Hermione bit her lip to contain a startled laugh. She was inclined to believe the cold determination that glinted in Narcissa's eyes. "I—well then. Hopefully none of that will be necessary but… thank you all the same."

Narcissa dismissed her thanks with a wave of her hand. As she did, the house-elves arrived with food. It was a bit surreal for Hermione, being presented the coconut rice and stuffed peppers she had thrown together as though it deserved these fancy platters and showy arrangement. Still, she had always enjoyed her own cooking, and the light of the chandelier and the ethereal splendor of the woman across from her somehow leant the meal a fragile ambiance of something far more extravagant than it was.

"Tell me about yourself," Narcissa prompted as she cut into one of the peppers. After taking a small bite, she added, "Aside from the fact that you are an excellent cook, of course."

Hermione felt herself blush at the unexpected compliment. The change in Narcissa's tone and manner was unnerving, though Hermione could still sense an underlying distance in her words. There was a prompting, curious smile on her lips, but Hermione could sense the strain behind it. It slowly occurred to her that she was now interacting with a character of sorts, the role Narcissa had perfected to engage with the rest of society while keeping her true emotions carefully under wraps. At this point, Hermione realized she had two choices: constantly analyze how genuine any of Narcissa's words or actions could be, or choose to take each illusion of emotion at face value.

"Thank you," she finally replied, allowing herself a bite as well. If Narcissa could falsify emotional engagement she did not feel, then the least Hermione could do was to attempt the same. "I—there isn't all that much to tell. You know my history, you've seen my recent past, and you, well… you are my present."

Narcissa looked startled for a moment, her fork paused partway to her mouth. "That is one way to put it, I suppose," she mused. "Though not strictly true. I know very little of your history, other than the bare details Andromeda shared of your background in magic." She paused, then leaned forward. "And what sort of literature you've seemed to enjoy. You grew up in Diagon, correct?"

Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the reference to their time in the library together, but she recovered quickly. "Yes. Just on the edge, actually. My adoptive family ran an inn there."

"Anywhere I might have stayed?"

Hermione shook her head. "It was a clean place, not the dregs of the down, but hardly high-society."

"I'm sure you have quite a few stories, then. Any particularly interesting guests?" That intense, unwavering curiosity remained fixed on Narcissa's face, and part of Hermione was tempted to believe it was all real, that the older witch was genuinely interested in her childhood, but another part of her insisted this was the first time Narcissa had paid her past more than a moment's notice, and it was all simply part of establishing a relationship they otherwise would never have.

Still, Hermione allowed herself to get lost in the telling, recounting one man's insistence that their "Complimentary Owl Housing!" advertisement meant they had to house his flying alligator as well. The faint light of surprised amusement in Narcissa's eyes was astonishingly… satisfying.

By the time the house-elves returned to take away their plates and bring out Narcissa's requested fruit for desert, Hermione was pleasantly surprised to find herself far more comfortable across this particular table than she had been when she first entered. At a lull in her own distinct babbling, she realized Narcissa had been doing this on purpose, drawing out her words until she felt safe speaking freely with her employer. "I'm sorry. I've been going on and on…" she murmured as Narcissa picked up a knife and began intricately slicing the large, green fruit that had been placed at the center of the table. "What is that?"

Narcissa glanced up at her, pausing the motions of the knife. "You've never had mango?"

"That's a mango? I've only had it dried, before."

Narcissa spared her an indulgent smile as she resumed her motions. "It is much better fresh. You're in for a treat."

After another few cuts, Narcissa carefully handed half of the fruit over to Hermione, leaving the other half and the bit around the massive seed behind on the plate. The younger witch blinked down at the gridlines cut into the fruit in confusion. Picking up her spoon, she stabbed it into one of the slice lines ineffectively. "How do I…?" she gestured to the oddly cut fruit.

Narcissa chuckled, reaching across and gently stealing back the mango half. "Sorry. I should have done this first." In a deft motion, she pressed the green skin on the outside upwards, turning the little dome inside-out and leaving perfect cubes of glistening orange flesh sticking up on the outside, ideally exposed to the edge of a spoon. "Just like this," she added, taking her own silverware and scooping off one of the bites.

When Narcissa rested her elbow on the tabletop and extended her arm towards Hermione, the younger woman could only blink for a moment in surprise. Then, the spoon was just there, waiting in front of her mouth, and she reflexively accepted the proffered cube, wrapping her lips around metal and mango alike. The fruit was wonderful, bursting across her taste buds in a tangy dance of sweet and rich and teasingly bitter that in no way compared to the dried version she had tried before. Narcissa offered her one more bite of the end of her spoon before passing back the inverted delight and leaving a mildly stunned Hermione to her own devices. Once they had each finished their halves, Narcissa offered her the seed.

"It can really be the best part," she insisted, sliding the plate closer. "There's plenty of flesh there, it just isn't possible to cut closely enough around the seed."

"How can I even eat it, then?" Hermione asked, eyeing the juice already staining the plate. "Without making a mess, that is."

"Oh, you don't," Narcissa replied, and when Hermione looked up, there was a devious glint in her eye. "Let us just say if there is one moment in which it is not possible to be a lady, it is when eating around a mango seed. Go ahead. Enjoy."

With those pale, calculating eyes peering at her so intensely over such casual, light words, Hermione could do nothing but obey. Daring to pick up the dripping flesh between her thumbs and forefingers, she nearly dropped the slippery seed. After an almost disastrous first bite, she got the hang of it, and Narcissa was quite right. Despite the juice running down her chin and staking its sticky claim on her fingers, this little bit of culinary heaven was quite worth the mess, as well as the faint embarrassment of having the Lady Malfoy's eyes on her as she ate.

When she finished, carefully bringing the napkin in her lap up to her face instead, Narcissa offered her a knowing look. "Tell me I was right."

Hermione nodded. "Absolutely."

* * *

><p>They adjoined to the library again after the meal, Hermione following a pace behind Narcissa's determined, practiced stride like a nervous puppy. That entire meal had been nothing she imagined it would be, and she didn't know if she was doing well in the eyes of the youngest Black or making a total fool of herself. When Narcissa proceeded to turn her seat to face Hermione's head-on, a rush of icy anxiety raced through her veins.<p>

"I think that went well."

Hermione let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "It did? I mean, I thought it did, but… I'm still a little confused. What was that? I… what are we practicing, exactly?"

Narcissa arched one fine eyebrow. "I wouldn't call this practice, Hermione. This is… acclimation. Changing roles. I need you to see me as… as a peer, at the very least, and if you feel odd about being paid for it, you could consider yourself a personal assistant, with the emphasis on the personal. Someone you would choose to spend time with. Someone who you wouldn't be frightened of pursuing, of being pursued by. To an outsider, this needs to look authentic, so between us, I need you comfortable around me, if not a little… tempted."

Hermione felt her cheeks flushing again. This particular tone continued to be incredibly surreal to the younger witch. She had grown used to Andromeda's gentle, insistent flirtation, but this chillingly matter-of-fact explanation interspersed with pseudo-pursuit was something else entirely. "I'm not _frightened_ of you," she insisted.

Narcissa's icy stare pierced right through her. "Of course not," she drawled.

Hermione shivered, and she knew the older woman saw it. "Should I be?" she whispered, lacing her fingers together tightly in her hap.

Her tentative question seemed to startle Narcissa, and a frown slipped into place for a moment. As quickly as it had come, it was gone, replaced by the same mild disinterest that had characterized most of Hermione's interactions with her up to this point. "Hardly," she replied. In the next breath, she changed the subject. "Have you been working on your Patronus?"

Caught off guard, Hermione stammered out her reply. "I—No. I haven't thought about it since… the day you explained it to me." Hermione had almost forgotten about that day, her loaded inquiry into the nature of the Patronus and her own incorporeal first success. She was surprised Narcissa remembered.

"Would you care to try again?"

Hermione blinked. "I—Yes! I mean, of course, but I don't even have my wand on me. I left it in my chambers. Nowhere to carry it in this dress."

Narcissa's eyes widened. "You don't have your wand?"

"N-no?" Hermione answered, unsure why Narcissa sounded so shocked.

Slowly, a strangled laugh overtook the startled look on her face. "You have led a different life. Go ahead; bring it here. I know I am not the teacher my sister is, but this at least is one skill I can offer."

Hermione obeyed the command, hustling upstairs. As she went, she considered Narcissa's words. _You have led a different life._ Hermione knew that much was true, but it took her half of flight of stairs to understand the context. When she did, she nearly tripped, realizing that in Narcissa's life, her wand must always be her first line of defense, her protection, her safety. Hermione had never considered it as such. She was never taught enough combative spells to make a difference. Now, even after Andromeda had broadened her knowledge of magic to include them, she didn't think her wand… necessary. Not every moment, and certainly not for dinner with Narcissa. Then again, in this household… it would probably be a good habit to get into.

On her way back down, Hermione froze on the stairs, catching sight of dark hair hurrying around the corner towards her in a flurry of heavy cloak and a clatter of heels. For a moment, the shadowy corridor played tricks, painting the figure in the darker shades of the eldest sister, but when she passed by without seeing Hermione above her, the younger witch realized it was actually Andromeda, and she was on her way to the door. A cold draft drifted in as she went out, leaving Hermione's heart racing and her skin prickling with goose bumps. She slid into a crouch on the stair, placing her head between her knees. This was not okay. She could not feel like she averted a crisis every time had a near encounter with Bellatrix or Andromeda.

She forced herself to rise and continue back to the library, but when she entered, she paused just inside the door.

"Does… Have you told Andromeda what we're doing?" she asked softly.

Narcissa turned in her chair to face her. "Not yet, but I will speak with her soon, before it progresses too far. Why do you ask?"

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. It was one thing to establish the full extent of the end of her relationship with the middle Black, but it would have been entirely another to try and explain this new, strange relationship with her sister. "You will? I saw her leaving just now and… I panicked a bit."

As Hermione returned to her seat, Narcissa nodded. "She has a part to play as well, unfortunately. While Lucius is the head of the Malfoy line which negates the necessity of any further involvement from his family, the head of mine is technically Bellatrix. However, Andromeda has legal rights over our eldest sister. I'm not sure whether that sets her as the true head of the Black line in relation to this spell or whether she will just need to tell Bella to cooperate, but I do not believe she will grudge me this. She knows my situation and she has always been… supportive, if distant."

At least one of Hermione's lingering questions had been answered. "She'll know it isn't… real, right?" she stammered, unsure how else to phrase that particular inquiry.

"Yes. I planned to give everything between you two a few days to settle, but I will speak to her when there is an opportune moment."

Hermione supposed that was the best she could ask for.

As their attentions turned towards casting a Patronus instead, all thoughts of Andromeda fled her mind, replaced a few moments later by dejected annoyance. "Why won't it work?" she muttered, dropping her wand in exasperation after her fifth attempt. No matter how many times she brought to mind the memory from her last session, not so much as a glimmer of silver appeared at the tip of her wand. "I did it last time!"

Narcissa's gaze was measuring. "The same memory?"

"Yes," Hermione answered curtly.

"You don't sound particularly happy about that."

Hermione blinked. "I—well it didn't work. Of course I'm not particularly happy."

"Has the memory… changed?"

Hermione shook her head, but even as she denied it, she realized Narcissa could be right. The last time she had used this memory, her mum's pride and happiness over the idea of her fake promotion at the Ministry, it had been a recollection of… family, of love. Now, the memory was tainted with the knowledge that her mother had never really believed her capable of anything more than a basic desk job or housekeeping, and the knowledge that her money was less disposable than her happiness. Slowly, the motion of her head turned into a nod instead. "A bit."

"Is it no longer a pleasant one?"

Hermione turned aside, startled to find herself on the brink of tears. "No," she whispered, swallowing thickly. "Not really."

Narcissa reached over and placed a hand on Hermione's knee, squeezing gently. "I'm not going to ask, but if you would like to—"

"—I feel like I don't have a family anymore!" Hermione blurted out, then shook her head, biting her tongue.

"I know your father recently passed away," Narcissa offered into the weighty silence. "I don't think I ever offered my condolences."

"My father? N-no, my parents died when I was a child. That isn't what I meant, I—"

Narcissa's eyes slowly closed as Hermione's voice faded. "Oh. I thought—I thought you knew."

Hermione's eyes widened and her heart began to race. "My father? Are you—What are you saying?"

Narcissa couldn't meet her eyes. "I received the last of his medical bills the day after you returned. I thought that was part of why you… came when you did. I thought he might have been in your Patronus memory."

"My dad's dead?" Hermione's voice was strangled, disbelieving. "N-no, my mum would have… she wouldn't just…" Hermione kept shaking her head, her mouth opening and closing even with no sound passing her lips. Even knowing this was coming, knowing he had only days to live, she never thought, she never imagined she wouldn't _know._ "How could she—she didn't even write!" Even if her mum hadn't known where she was going, a post owl could have found her without trouble.

It wasn't until Narcissa's hand took hold of hers with a gentle squeeze that she realized she was crying. Once she did, she couldn't stop. She pulled away from Narcissa's touch to wipe furiously at her eyes, then gave up, leaning forward and covering her mouth in her hands, staring at the ground through blurred, stinging eyes. "I don't even know when the funeral is," she whispered into her palms.

As the tears came faster, she felt gentle fingers run through her hair, a silent touch of comfort that only made her cry harder. She sensed more than heard Narcissa rise, coming to kneel beside her chair and rub soothing circles between her shoulder blades. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sure he was a good man. He raised a wonderful, brilliant daughter."

Hermione felt a brittle laugh fighting its way through her tears, a wild sound, half-mad. "You don't have to say that. I know I'm convenient, but I'm not naïve. I know what you think of me." Her words were punctuated by shuddering breaths, her sadness and confusion feeding an anger she would never have otherwise put into words.

Narcissa's hand stilled for a moment, then lifted to run through her curls once again, tangling slightly and coming to rest at her neck. "I do not waste breath on things I do not mean."

Hermione raised her head, daring to meet Narcissa's eyes. "I—I'm not—"

"Do not undervalue yourself to me. I do not deny my prejudice. I never have. But I've chosen you for a reason, Hermione, and it is not because you were merely convenient."

Hermione blinked up at her, feeling unaccountably warmed by Narcissa's insistent words.

The other witch gently brushed away the last of her tears with her thumb. "I'm sorry you found out like this."

Hermione drew in a final shuddering breath, trying to pull together shattered pieces inside of her even as she flushed with embarrassment to have broken down in front of Narcissa like this. "No, I—thank you. I'm sorry I—I'm glad you told me. I knew it was soon but I didn't... know."

As Hermione gathered up her emotions and her wand, Narcissa pulled back and stood. "I don't believe this is the night for a Patronus anymore."

Hermione smiled weakly and shook her head. "Would you mind too much if I turn in early? I think I'd like to… be alone."

Narcissa nodded, waving her wand to return her chair to its original position and picking up a book from the table beside her. "Of course. If you would care to be alone with company, however, I will probably be up a few hours yet."

Hermione accepted her words with a small smile, but withdrew all the same. She paused in the doorway and turned back, watching Narcissa in silence for a lingering moment. She was an image of pristine composure as she read, turning each page with delicate, silent precision as the eternal tension in her bearing slowly faded into the comfortable embrace of the armchair. She seemed a different women in these moments, lost in her own mind, and it was the only time she appeared… small. Hermione was almost tempted to rejoin her, to accept the tacit comfort of her presence, but she had already accepted too much from Narcissa today.

Lying awake in bed, emotionally drained but not physically tired enough for sleep, Hermione considered her day. Aside from the crushing realization that her father had finally passed away, spending this time with Narcissa so far had been… surprisingly pleasant. She had accepted the role out of horror at Narcissa's circumstances and out of her own desire for a distraction – _any_ distraction – from the lingering tension with Andromeda. She had never expected it to be… _enjoyable._ It was anything but a smart reaction. Hermione was Narcissa's fake... _girlfriend_ didn't quite feel the right word. Her fake affair? It wouldn't do to get caught up in the whirl of it, in the decadence of Narcissa's lifestyle and the stunning array of affected emotions she could put on in their act. Being distracted was fine. Anything more was… dangerous.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Sorry for the delay, but at least you get a particularly lengthy chapter for your patience. Special thanks for this update goes to the ever-brilliant Greyella, for her remarkable ability to coax my muse to life in wonderful ways.

Inspired, as ever,

- Zarrene.


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